Beginnings
by Jay Condor Lee
Summary: A story of the events leading up to that fateful roller coaster ride that transported our young heroes to the Realm of Dungeons and Dragons and of their first days in that magical world.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes

In writing this story, it was my intent to stay as true to the series as possible while creating an interesting story with engaging characters that would entertain readers both young and old. With one exception, I chose to follow the rule that the only canon to be followed was the series itself as presented on television and DVD. I neither considered nor referenced other fan fiction works when writing this story, nor did I consider the unproduced story "Requiem." When it comes to details that are not mentioned in the series such as the characters' backgrounds, surnames and ages, I chose to follow my own interpretation of the series rather than that which might be generally accepted by the fan community at large.

I believe that there are only two instances in which my story appears to deviate from the series as produced. Both are intentional. One deals with a date, an issue that I plan to make a plot point in an upcoming story if I get the chance to finish it. The other deals with the characterization of Diana the Acrobat.

I mentioned one exception to my self-imposed canon rule. In one episode, Hank mentions that she competes at the Olympic level back home. This detail contradicts the series "bible" which repeatedly refers to the heroes as average teenagers with average abilities and which specifically describes Diana as just "plain ol' Diana" without her javelin. In my opinion, the concept that these are ordinary teenagers in extraordinary circumstances is one that is essential to the story itself and one that should not be violated. Making Diana an Olympic level athlete seperates her from the group, diminishes the importance of her weapon and makes it more difficult for the viewer/reader to identify with her. In light of this, I chose to follow the original description of the Diana character and I interpret Hank's comment as an exaggeration intended to impress a boy Diana is attracted to. Diana is certainly athletic, but not extraordinarily so. She is, as originally described, "plain ol' Diana."

I have one final note regarding continuity and canon. It is my philosophy that when one translates a work of fiction from its orignal medium to another (such as from a television show to a written work) it is expected that in the translation process there will be some natural changes between the two versions. For example, in the cartoon version of the show it was necessary that the characters be somewhat one-dimensional. Eric is the complainer, Presto is the nerd, Hank is the hero, and so on. With several main characters and only twenty minutes or so of show, there isn't much time for deeper development and children wouldn't sit through it if there were.

However, in a written work it is expected that the characters be more fleshed out and more real. The characters are less cartoonish in my story because I am not writing a script for a cartoon. I am writing a short story version of a cartoon. In my opinion that is a different kind of project that requires a slightly different treatment of the characters. It is my goal to stay true to the original vision of the characters while correctly translating that vision into a new medium.

I am pleased that you have chosen to read this story. Writing it was a lot of work, but it was also a lot of fun and I hope that you find it enjoyable and entertaining.

Chapter One

Eric

Tuesday, May 31st, 1983

Four Hours Before the Roller Coaster Ride

Eric Pampier stood in his bedroom, glaring out through the window at the long, gracefully curved driveway of his palatial home. The boy was tall with short, dark hair and large, brown eyes. He was dressed well, wearing a red button-down Ralph Lauren shirt with a yellow Izod sweater vest and khaki pants that were cuffed over his brown loafers. At sixteen, he still had yet to totally clear his awkward phase and whether standing or sitting, he never quite seemed to know what to do with his long, gangly limbs. His large ears, which often earned him the scorn and ridicule of some of his older classmates were tinged with red at the edges as he stood leaning forward with his shoulders hunched and arms folded tightly across his chest.

His bedroom was luxurious by most standards. He had a walk-in closet on one side and a door in the opposite wall which led to his own private bath. The high ceiling, large windows, white walls and thick blue carpeting were all designed to give the room a light, airy feel that was currently being wasted on the room's sole inhabitant to whom the room, and the entire house for that matter, often felt more like a cage than anything else.

Eric glanced at the digital clock on his dresser and inhaled sharply when he saw that it read 7:07. "Come on, Hank, hurry up," he muttered between tightly clenched teeth. Just then, the phone next to his bed rang. He shut his eyes and clenched both fists so tightly that his nails dug into the the fleshy part of his palms. The phone rang again while he stood there, unmoving. Another sound caught his attention while the phone was ringing for the third time. Eric opened his eyes and looked out the window to see a beige Ford Country Squire station wagon pulling up the drive. "Thanks a lot, Hank," he grumbled. "You're about a minute too late." The fourth ring was suddenly cut off as Eric headed out his bedroom door. _Maybe I can get outside before she catches up to me_, he thought. But he wasn't going to avoid the confrontation that easily. As Eric was heading down the wide staircase that led to the foyer, his mother was coming up to find him.

Mrs. Pampier was a slim, attractive woman in her mid-forties with dark brown hair in a "Farrah do" that matched her son's hair in color. She was simply, but elegantly dressed in a cream blouse and brown skirt with matching flats. She wore an understated gold necklace and a pair of similar gold bracelets on each wrist. Her blue eyes looked at her son through large, round glasses. "Eric," she said in a voice that was stern, but yet not without some sympathy. "Your father is on the phone. He wants to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to _him_," Eric answered, trying to push past her. A hand on his shoulder stopped him.

The doorbell rang and both mother and child looked towards the door. The hand on Eric's shoulder tightened. "Gregory can answer the door," she said. "You're not going with your friends until you talk to him." Eric sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "Fine, I'll talk to him," he said, stomping down the rest of the stairs and turning to enter the study as the elderly butler Gregory tottered into the foyer from the other side to answer the doorbell.

Eric closed the door to the study behind him. From the other side he could dimly hear Gregory's clipped, prissy voice as he greeted the visitor. There was a red light blinking next to one of the buttons of the black phone that sat upon the glossy, intricately carved cherry wood desk. Eric pressed the button and picked up the receiver. "Eric Pampier," he answered neutrally. "How may I help you?"

There was a short pause and then a voice full of false cheer answered. "Hi Eric," his father said, "How are-"

"Are you coming back to live with us," Eric interrupted, "or are you going to keep living with your secretary instead?"

There was another pause and this time, when his father spoke, all trace of false cheer was gone. "Listen, Buddy, it's not that simple," he said. "You see-"

Eric hung up the phone. He turned, threw open the door and stomped back through the empty foyer and into the parlor where his mother was seated on the couch, talking to Hank, who was politely nodding his blond head in response to whatever it was she was saying to him. They both stood as Eric stormed across the room. "My," his mother said, "that was a short conversation."

"I talked to him, Mom," Eric replied. "May I go now?" His mother looked as if she were about to deny his request, but then her face softened. She reached out and touched the side of his face softly, something she hadn't done since he was a little boy. Eric's face reddened and he glanced at Hank, who suddenly had found something terribly fascinating about the sculpture on the end table. "Go," his mother said then, "and have a good time." She let her hand drop back to her side. "You'll come straight back here after the park closes, right Henry?"

"Yes, Mrs. Pampier," Hank replied, turning from his study of the sculpture, "I promise."

A few minutes later, the two friends were sitting in the front seats of the station wagon, fastening their seat belts. Hank kindly had said nothing of what had happened in the house. Of all the members of the group, Hank and Eric had been friends the longest and nobody understood Eric or his relationship with his parents better than Hank did. He knew when to ask questions and when to let things slide. Still, Eric wasn't ready to completely let Hank off the hook.

"You couldn't have come two minutes earlier?" Eric asked. "What, was the girls' softball team hosting a free car wash? If so, I have to say, it doesn't really look like they got around to washing this tub."

"Aren't you ever going to let that go?" Hank asked with mock annoyance. "You know that only happened once. Besides," he continued with look of innocence, "the car _did_ need a wash that day. Now, are you ready to kick off our summer break or what?"

Eric turned the crank that rolled down the passenger-side window, letting in the cool morning air. He breathed it in deeply. For the first time that day, Eric smiled. "_Henry_," he replied, laughing at Hank's grimace at the use of his proper name, "you have no idea how ready I am. Let's just get the heck outta here already."

"Can do," Hank said, smiling as well as he pulled the car around the curved drive.

As Hank turned the car left onto the boulevard in front of the Pampier estate, Eric pulled on the handle that adjusted the position of his seat, pushing it back a foot or so. He then tilted it back about forty-five degrees. He kicked off his loafers, leaned back, put his hands behind his head and stuck his socked feet out through the window. He sighed contentedly. "You know, it's going to be good to get away for a day," Eric said.

Hank nodded in agreement as he turned on the radio. The familiar chords of _Abracadabra_ by the Steve Miller band filled the car. As they drove down the road, the morning sun flashed brightly through the leaves on the maple trees that lined the median and there wasn't a cloud in the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Presto

Saturday, May 28th, 1983

Three Days Before the Roller Coaster Ride

"Now, open your hand," the young magician said, tapping the little blond girl's tightly closed fist with his wand. She opened her hand and three brightly colored balls tumbled to the ground. She gasped in delighted surprise and the other children seated around them in a semi-circle did the same before breaking out into enthusiastic applause. The magician smiled and told Elizabeth to take a bow for her friends, which she did, smiling widely. "Thank you all, very much," he said, bowing as well, taking care not to lose his thick glasses in the process. "I'm going to take a short break now, but I'll be back an a little bit to wow and dazzle you with more prestidigitation!" He waggled his fingers at the children and they laughed and applauded even more enthusiastically.

Albert "Presto" Prestopoulos walked through the grass up to the refreshment table to get a cup of punch while parents wrangled the kids to get them ready for the next activity. The day was very warm and Presto's shaggy chestnut colored hair was damp with sweat, as was his black tuxedo. "Strawberry Shortcake and Friends" was the theme of Elizabeth's fifth birthday party and there was a great deal of pink and red everywhere. Presto smiled to himself as he saw a handwritten sign next to the punchbowl that identified its contents as "Berry good punch." He poured himself a cup, taking great care not to spill any on his tuxedo.

"That was wonderful, Albert" said a voice from behind him. Presto turned to see Elizabeth's mother standing there. "Thank you, Mrs. Trellis," he replied, "and thank you for the chance to perform."

"Well, your father told me that you'd do a good job and he was right. So, how did you do that trick with the balloon?"

"Aw, now Mrs. Trellis," Presto said with a wag of his finger. "You know a magician never reveals his secrets."

Mrs. Trellis smiled and then put on the face of a properly chastised woman. "You're absolutely right, Albert," she said with mock seriousness. "Will you be ready to retake the stage in a few minutes?"

"Sure, no problem, I just need to set up a few things."

A few minutes later, while the children were playing pin-the-mustache-on-the-Pieman, Presto was finishing setting up the box he was going to use to cut Mrs. Trellis in half when he heard a familiar voice calling to him from the other side of the yard. He looked up and smiled in surprise. "Hank! Eric!" he replied, "what are you two doing here?" His two older friends walked across the yard toward Presto's "stage" which was really just a rectangle of concrete where the Trellis family usually kept their barbecue grill.

"Wow, these people are really into pink, aren't they?" Eric said looking around at the balloons and streamers as he and Hank greeted Presto.

"It's a five-year-old girl's birthday party," Hank reminded him. "What did you expect, G.I. Joe?"

"I guess not," Eric responded. "Hey, nice threads, Presto. You look like James Bond in that thing. You know, if James Bond was short, fifteen and wore Coke-bottle glasses."

"Shut up, Eric" Hank said, elbowing the thin boy in the ribs. "So, Presto, how's it going to far?"

"It's going great. The kids are having a really good time and Elizabeth's mom is really happy too. If she recommends me to the other parents, I might be pretty busy performing this summer."

"That's great," Hank responded. "We knew that this was your first real paid public performance, so we wanted to cheer you on. The girls are coming too."

"Besides," Eric jumped in, "we thought you might need some help getting out of here if you made some kid disappear and then couldn't get him back."

"The girls?" Presto asked, ignoring Eric's comment.

"Yeah," Hank responded. "Diana's bringing Sheila and maybe Bobby too, I'm not sure." Presto's mouth suddenly went dry and his heart started thudding in his chest.

"Hey, buddy, you all right?" Eric asked, genuine concern on his face. "You look like somebody just ran over your rabbit."

"No, I'm fine, Eric," Presto responded with a weak grin. "I just need to make sure everything's ready." The children had finished their game and were taking their seats around him again.

Hank and Eric both wished Presto luck before they stepped back to the refreshment table where the parents were standing. _Maybe I can get through this quickly before she gets here_, Presto thought to himself. But, just then, he saw Diana, Sheila and Bobby come around the house and walk over to Hank and Eric. All three gave Presto a friendly wave, which he tried to return, but in doing so, dropped his wand. "Just breathe, Presto. Breathe," he commanded himself quietly as he bent down to retrieve his wand. "She's just a girl like anyone else. There's no reason that you should go to pieces every time you try to perform in front of her."

"Are you talking to yourself?" asked a little boy sitting in front of him on the grass.

Presto turned to the boy in surprise. He hadn't realized how clearly he was speaking. "Uh...no. It's a uh...magic spell," he explained. The little boy's eyes grew wide as he and another little boy next to him turned to each other and began discussing in awe what the magician had just said. Presto swallowed then and raised his arms in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen," he began in a voice that cracked embarrassingly. He coughed and tried again, "Ladies and Gentlemen, for my next meat of fagic-" He stopped yet again and felt his face grow red. He put his arms down and sighed. _Get a grip_, he told himself, silently this time. He raised his arms and began one more time.

The act was an unmitigated disaster. Presto had actually hurt Mrs. Trellis when trying to cut her in half. She wasn't seriously wounded, but the sharp cry of "ouch!" during the performance was not for dramatic effect. The false legs that were supposed to move like Mrs. Trellis' own legs, didn't move at all except when the left one fell out of the magic box and onto the concrete square. He dropped the card that he had been palming during his card trick and the bird he pulled out of his hat got away from him and flew into the face of a little red-haired girl, who immediately burst into tears and ran across the yard to her mother while the bird chased her the whole way. "Mommy, make him go away!" she had cried as she flew into her mother's arms. Presto never found out if she was referring to the bird or himself.

Fifteen minutes after the incident with the bird, Presto was sitting on his heavy wooden trunk full of props and other equipment at the curb in front of the house. He sat with his head in his hands, waiting silently for his father to come pick him up. Presto could hear whispering from somewhere behind him and he knew that his friends were there, trying to figure out what to say. A moment later, Hank sat down on the curb next to the trunk. "That was really something, Presto," he said.

"Yeah, thanks" he mumbled in reply, not looking at the older boy.

"No, I mean it," Hank continued. "Look, I know that it didn't go as you planned, but-"

"Didn't go as I planned?" Presto cut him off suddenly, jumping off the trunk and looking down at Hank through his thick lenses. "Hank, it was a catastrophe!" he shouted. "And the thing is, I'm good. I mean it, I can be really, really good." He punctuated each "really" with a jabbed finger at Hank's chest. "You guys didn't see me during the first act. I was great! But for some reason, every time I'm around-" he cut himself off then as his eyes went wide, realizing who was there and what he had been about to say.

Hank stood up too. "Every time you're around what?" he asked.

"Nothing, forget it. Look, thanks for coming," he said. "All of you," he continued more loudly, gesturing to the others who stood in a little group a few yards away, looking at him with carefully placed smiles that didn't quite mask the looks of pity in their eyes. "I'll get 'em next time, right?"

They all chimed in with various words of encouragement as a dark blue car turned onto the street. "That's my dad," Presto said, pointing to the car. "Thanks for waiting with me, guys, but you can go now."

"OK, Presto, we'll see you on Tuesday, right?" Hank said.

Presto looked at him with a blank expression as his father's car pulled up to the curb. Then he remembered. "Oh, yeah, Adventure Island," he replied. "Yeah, I'll see you then."

"Pick you up at seven-thirty," Hank said, turning to go as Presto's father got out of the car.

"Sure thing," Presto replied and then he waved to the others. "Bye, guys, thanks for coming," he called. They smiled, waved back and then headed towards their cars.

"That was nice of your friends to come see your performance," Mr. Prestopoulos said as he helped his son load his gear into the trunk. "So, how did it go?"

Presto looked at his father in dismay. He honestly didn't know how to respond.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Bobby

Friday, May 27th, 1983

Four Days Before the Roller Coaster Ride

"Fight! Fight! Fight!" chanted the students in a circle around Bobby Flynn and Jeffrey Thompson. The older boy knocked Bobby back with a punch that bloodied his nose and made flashes of white light sparkle in the center of his vision. Bobby regained his balance, pushed his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes and with a primal yell, ran at Jeffrey and shoved him hard, knocking him to the hard concrete surface of the playground. He then jumped on his assailant and began pummeling him with both fists. Jeffrey wailed as Bobby shouted at him."Take it back!" he screamed. "Take back what you said about my mom!"

Jeffrey never got the chance to comply before two teachers and the principal barreled through the circle of onlookers and began trying to pull the two combatants apart. At first, Bobby held on stubbornly, but eventually he gave in and relaxed his grip. His third grade teacher Miss Fox and Principal Duff dragged Bobby away from his adversary while a male teacher whose name Bobby could not remember kept a grip on Jeffrey's arm. Suddenly, Bobby was spun around in a circle so that he was face to face with the balding and clearly very angry principal who was now one one knee. "What do you think you are doing?" he demanded of Bobby, tie askew and glasses resting crookedly on his flushed face.

Bobby glanced from the large, red and gasping face in front of him to Miss Fox, who now stood a little behind her boss with her hands on her hips. A lock of her brown hair had come loose from her customary ponytail and fell across her pretty face, the only evidence of her role in the struggle. While the young woman was a stern teacher, she also knew how to make the classroom fun and Bobby usually saw laughter reflected in her dark eyes. However, at this time he only saw disappointment. Miss Fox had talked to him many times this year about what she called his "lack of impulse control" and he understood now that she probably felt all that time had been wasted. She held Bobby's gaze for a moment and then, shaking her head and saying something under her breath that Bobby couldn't make out, she walked past him without giving him another glance. That action hurt Bobby more than the bloody nose, but he didn't have long to think about it because Principal Duff grabbed Bobby's chin with his massive, beefy paw and turned his face back towards his own, glowering visage.

"I asked you a question," Duffing said in a quiet, intense voice. Bobby knew from experience that the angrier their principal got, the quieter his voice became. "What exactly do you think you are doing," he continued, "fighting out here on the playground like a wild animal, especially on the last day of school?"

"He insulted my mom," Bobby replied, looking the principal directly in the eyes. "He called her a-" Bobby paused for a second because he wasn't even sure what the word that Jeffrey had used even meant, though he was very sure that it was rude and obscene. He decided that actually saying the word to the principal might not be the best idea given the man's current emotional state. In the back of his mind, he wondered if this decision wasn't, in fact, a good example of impulse control. "-a bad word," he continued. "I wasn't gonna let him do that."

Principal Duff surprised Bobby then by saying nothing. Instead, his eyes broke contact with Bobby's to glance somewhere over the boy's right shoulder. "Bobby," he said after a moment, "I know that Jeffrey can be-" now it was the principal's turn to pause as he was clearly searching for the appropriate word to use with one of Jeffrey's fellow students. "Aggravating," he finally concluded. "But, you cannot respond to his words with violence. That is not permitted here. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Bobby said, more because he knew that that was the response expected of him than out of any real conviction that his actions weren't justified. Duff nodded at Bobby's response and stood up. "Let's see the nurse and get you cleaned up and then let's call your father," he said, leading Bobby towards the school building.

Thirty minutes later, Bobby was seated in one of the red plastic chairs inside the school office, but outside the closed door that led into the principal's inner office when a tall, unshaven, muscular man in jeans and a stained white T-shirt entered the room. He walked by Bobby briskly, and when he did so, Bobby caught a smell of stale tobacco and something else that he couldn't quite identify. The dark-haired man spoke just four words the entire time he was in the office. The first two were to the secretary behind the desk. "Jeffrey Thompson," he said quietly. The secretary picked up the phone and spoke into it. A moment later, the door to the inner office opened and Jeffrey stepped out with Mr. Duff right behind him. Bobby was surprised to see the damage he had done to the sixth-grader's face. His left eye was nearly swollen shut and there were several scrapes on the boy's face, arms and hands that were likely to scab over. Bobby was also surprised to see that Jeffrey's face was pale and downcast as he approached his father.

"Mr. Thompson," the principal began, "If you have a moment, I'd like to speak with you and Jeffrey about what happened today." However, Jeffrey's father had already turned his back to the office and was heading out the door when he grunted the final two words, "I don't." Jeffrey followed his father out the door, saying nothing. That was the last time that Bobby ever saw Jeffrey Thompson and as long as Bobby lived, that image of a clearly terrified and bruised boy following his father out the door stayed with him.

Principal Duff was still looking at the closed door with a grim expression on his face. He sighed then and turned to Bobby.

"Bobby, we can't seem to get a hold of your father," he said. "Do you have any other number where he can be reached?"

"No," Bobby responded. "He's probably out of the house." What Bobby didn't tell him was that his father was out of the house because he was still looking for a job and he was interviewing everywhere where he thought he could get one. Besides, the principal probably already knew his family's situation anyway.

"No, ah, work number?"

"No."

"I see. Bobby, school policy forbids you being with the other students the day you've had a fight. That prohibition extends to riding the bus. Is there anyone else who can get you home?"

The young boy winced inwardly. While his dad would certainly not be happy to hear he had got in another fight, he would be better than the alternative. Still, Bobby realized that there was little other choice. His dad was usually gone until late in the evening interviewing or working whatever odd jobs he could find and Bobby had no desire to spend most of the night at the school. He sighed. "My sister Sheila drives," he muttered. _Great_, he thought to himself. _Sheila's going to kill me_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Diana

Tuesday, September 14th, 1982

Eight Months Before the Roller Coaster Ride

"Band, a-ten-hut!" rang the megaphone-enhanced voice from the scaffolding on the fifty-yard line. "Hut!" thundered the members of the Hopewell High School Marching Indians as two hundred and thirty-seven instrumentalists, color guard members and majorettes snapped to attention. Diana Williams, wearing cut-off denim shorts, Nike tennis shoes with no socks and a white T- shirt with "Lady Indians" printed on it in pink lettering stood in near perfect form. After three years as a member of the majorettes, mentally reviewing the attention posture was automatic now: chin up, chest out, shoulders back, feet together, eyes with pride. The cool autumn air felt good as it breezed over her dark skin and tousled the ringlets of her hair; the only part of her that moved at all when at attention. The overcast sky suggested rain later that evening and Diana hoped that it held off until after marching band practice was over. While she enjoyed the graceful athleticism involved in being a majorette, sloshing through an increasingly muddy football field was not a fun way to spend an afternoon.

Four sharp whistles pierced the silence and a snare drum picked up the staccato beat as the marching band began to move to its starting position for the pre-game show. Moments later, the opening fanfare of the school fight song blared across the field and the band marched through the intricate formations that would, at the apex of the song, spell out _Indians_ on the field. The moves were all second nature to Diana now as she glided gracefully from one position to the next. Soon, they were nearing the end of the song and as Diana passed by the sousaphones, she heard the missed note again. Her eyes tightened as she heard it. _Poor Presto_, she thought to herself as she continued the routine. _He's going to catch heck from his squad leader for that_. Presto was a really good player, but he often missed that note out on the field. He rarely ever missed it when practicing in the band room though. Diana wondered idly why that was as she and the other majorettes got down on one knee on the sideline with arms outstretched shaking their poms and the band came to the final, triumphant note that announced the fact that the lead sousaphone player had run out onto the field and dotted the "i" in _Indians_.

"Very well done, Marching Indians," Mr. Dolan congratulated the band from the scaffolding after the last echoes of that note died away. "Just a few things, though. Trumpets, some of you are missing the twenty yard line as you come across the field and sousaphones, _once again_ you are off near the end there. What's the trouble with that?"

"We'll take care of it," came the response from Richard, the sousaphone squad leader, "won't we, Albert?" Diana winced inwardly on behalf of her friend as Presto shakily replied, "Um, yes, I'll, uh, work on that."

"Yes, you will," Mr. Dolan said, exasperation evident in his voice. "I don't need to remind you that there are yearly auditions for this band, Mister Prestopoulos. How you perform this year will impact our decisions for next year." He paused a moment to let that sink in. Then, in a less threatening tone he addressed the entire band. "OK, everyone take a fifteen-minute break and then meet back in warm-up formation to go through the half-time show."

As the students headed off in different directions, Diana set her poms down on the sideline and walked over to where Presto was glumly taking off his instrument. At fourteen years old, Presto had not yet completed his growth spurt, which gave him an awkward, not-quite-finished appearance. He had a mop of chestnut-colored hair that he never quite seemed to have under control and his thick round glasses had slid down his nose again. He was wearing jeans, tennis shoes and though Diana couldn't imagine where he had found it, he was also wearing a T-shirt that had Arthur "the Fonz" Fonzerelli playing a tuba while giving a thumb's up sign. Above the tuba was a musical staff that represented the song that The Fonz was apparently playing: a series of A notes. Diana smiled to herself. Presto really did march to his own beat. "Hey, Buddy," she greeted cheerfully.

"Oh, uh, hey, Diana," Presto replied, pushing his thick glasses back up into place from where they had slid down his nose. "I guess I messed up again, huh?"

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Diana assured him. "You'll get it next time."

"Yeah, I hope so," Presto said. "I'd hate to be cut from the band next year."

"Never gonna happen," Diana said, putting her arm around her young friend's shoulders. "You're too good. Hey, why don't we go get something to drink?"

The two friends made an unlikely pair as they headed towards the water table: an elegant, slender, graceful, seventeen-year-old black girl with her arm around the shoulders of an awkward, gangly, bespectacled, thirteen-year-old white boy. Diana knew some of her majorette friends didn't really understand her friendship with Presto, but she didn't care. He was a good kid and he was like a little brother to her. As they got to the table, they each picked up a styrofoam cup of ice water and then moved off a ways to sit down on the grass.

Presto's face was downcast as he sipped his water. "Diana," he said, "why do I mess everything up?"

Diana's smile was sympathetic. "Oh, but you don't, Presto," she replied. "Don't you remember that night we first met?"

Presto's face reddened slightly. "Yeah," he said ruefully. "My parents paid you to babysit me."

Diana laughed. "Well, you were only ten at the time," she said. "But what I meant was when you made my watch disappear. You were so eager to show me all this magic stuff that you could do and you really made it happen. Some of the stuff I could kind of figure out, like the cup and balls thing, but I never have figured out how you made my watch disappear and then reappear again in my purse."

Presto smiled at her words. "Yeah, that is a pretty cool trick. I can do the same thing with a live rabbit now. You should see it." His smile faltered then. "You know, sometimes I can do things really well, like with magic or playing in band, but..." he trailed off, looking at his lap through his thick lenses."

"But, what?" Diana asked, curious.

Presto continued to look down. "I don't know," he said. "Sometimes it just doesn't work."

"You'll figure it out, Presto," Diana said with confidence. "You're just going through an awkward phase." Presto grimaced at that observation. "Oh, don't worry about it," Diana chided. "You know, I was terribly clumsy and awkward my freshman year."

Presto looked up, his eyes wide. "You?" Presto asked. "Really? I don't remember that."

"Don't you?" she asked. "My legs and arms grew way faster than the rest of me and I was always tripping over my own two feet. Once, I even slipped in the cafeteria and spilled chili all over myself." That's why Hank sometimes calls me 'Soupy' whenever he wants to get under my skin. That was the brilliant nickname he came up with after I did that."

Presto laughed. "Wow," he said, "I never knew that."

"So you see, I grew out of it and you will too. Just wait."

Presto didn't look convinced. "Well, I sure hope I grow out of this...this phase," he said before changing the subject. "So, what are you doing after school today? Are you working at Long John's tonight?"

Diana's voice was quieter and more subdued when she responded. She had nearly forgotten the dilemma she had been wrestling with all day. Almost, but not quite. Practice had been a welcome diversion."No, I'm not working tonight," she said.

"Is something wrong?" Presto asked, concern on his face.

"No, I'm fine, it's just," Diana paused a moment and then decided it would be good to get this off her chest after all. "My gran had a stroke yesterday afternoon," Diana said.

"Oh no! Diana, I'm so sorry," Presto said.

"Thanks, Buddy. I appreciate that," Diana said sincerely. "She's…well, she's unconscious and-" she felt her throat tighten and she wiped at the tears starting to form in her eyes. "And the doctors don't expect her to wake up again. They don't think she'll last the week," her voice broke and tears flowed more freely down her cheeks. Presto, with sympathy in his eyes, pulled a bright rainbow-colored handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted it gratefully and blew her nose into it. After a moment, she began to get herself under control and wiped away the last of the tears. Looking at the gaily colored cloth in her hand, she suddenly realized something. "Wait a minute," she said with a sniff. "Isn't this one of the handkerchiefs that you use in your act?"

"Well, yes," Presto admitted sheepishly. "It's the only one I had on me."

Diana suddenly laughed through her tears and her hands covered her mouth in surprise. "I blew my nose on your magic prop?" she asked, horrified, but still laughing.

"Yeah, I guess so, but that's OK, I don't mind," Presto replied, confusion evident in his voice.

That made Diana laugh all the more. New tears were streaming down her face. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her face again with the handkerchief. "I don't know why this is so funny." Finally, she heaved a big sigh and, with a giggle, folded the wet cloth into a square and handed it back to Presto, who returned it to his pocket.

"Thanks, Presto," she said. "You have no idea how much I needed that." She took a deep breath and continued. "The thing is, my mom wants me to stop by the hospital on my way home and see Gran before it's too late, but I don't know if I want to see her like that, you know? All hooked up to machines and unable to take care of herself. I think it would be too painful. She was such a strong, lively woman, even into her eighties. I hate to think of her all…you know."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Presto asked.

The question startled Diana. She looked at her young friend whom she had just been trying to comfort herself a minute ago. She was reminded again of why she was so fond of him.

Presto reddened under her gaze. "I don't have to. I...I mean I don't want to intrude," he stammered.

"No," Diana said quickly. "I'd like that. I think I'd like that a lot."

He brightened then and his words came out in a rush, tumbling over one another. "I was just thinking that it would give you someone to talk to, you know?" he said. "As long as you don't mind giving me a ride home afterward. I know it's hard visiting people who, well, who aren't awake and who are in bad shape. It was like that with my great-grandpa. It was always easier to visit him with someone else. That way, we could see him, but we didn't have to focus so much on the condition he was in. Anyway, I can be there for as long as you like and then if you want to be alone with your grandma, I can go to the pediatrics ward and practice some of my tricks on the kids. They know me there and they like to have me come by."

"Presto," Diana said, fresh tears coming to her eyes, "you're a treasure, you know that?" She gave her friend a fierce hug. "Thank you so much. I'd love that," she said, before releasing him.

"It's no problem at all," Presto said cheerfully, coming to his feet. He looked at his watch. " We still have a few minutes before we have to be back on the field. Let me go call my parents and tell them that I'll be a little late and that you'll be giving me a ride home."

"I'll go with you," Diana said, standing up as well. Once again, she threw her arm around Presto's shoulders. He reciprocated this time and, arms around each other, the two friends headed toward the school building. "Presto," Diana said as they neared the door, "you're not going to use that handkerchief today with the kids, are you?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sheila

Thursday, May 26th, 1983

Five Days Before the Roller Coaster Ride

The cafeteria at Hopewell High School was, as always, a bustling, noisy, carnival of shouting, jostling and laughter. Sheila Flynn stood in the line of rowdy teenagers with her head bowed, arms folded and pale blue eyes downcast. She wore a plain, pale blue T-shirt, white shorts and white tennis shoes. Though her posture and demeanor were not of one who wished to be noticed in a crowd, her flaming red hair drew a sharp contrast to the more subtle shades of blond, brown and black that surrounded her.

Sheila was biting her upper lip as she shuffled along the line of students that followed the cafeteria wall until it reached the serving area where the cooks waited to dispense the day's nourishment. As she picked up her tray from the stack, she glanced an envious look at her friends who were already seated at their favorite table. On most days, Sheila arrived in the cafeteria early so that she could quickly get through the line and be seated by the time Hank, Eric, Albert and Diana showed up with their packed lunches. Unfortunately, she had needed more time than usual to complete her Algebra final today and now she was stuck in this crowded line of students. She reached the head of the line and handed her tray to the matronly woman behind the sneeze guard. "Hamburger and fries, please," Sheila requested quietly. The woman fulfilled her order and grumpily handed back the tray. Sheila thanked her, turned to her left and headed towards the cashier, picking up a carton of chocolate milk from the refrigerator unit on her way. This was the part she hated the most. On days where she got in line early enough, there was nobody around to witness her pay for her meal. Today, however, the line had begun to bunch up at the cashier and before long, she was surrounded by increasingly impatient students. After a few minutes, it was Sheila's turn to pay for her lunch. The elderly Mrs. Kent rang up her order. "A dollar twenty-five, Dear," she warbled at Sheila with her palm out. Sheila meekly handed her the free-and-reduced-lunch card that she handed the woman every school day. _I wish the poor woman would remember me and would quit quoting me the full price_, Sheila thought to herself as Mrs. Kent took her card and wrote down the code into a ledger next to the register. "Fifty cents," she said and held her hand out again. Sheila could feel the eyes of the other students on her as she handed over the two quarters. She made a mental promise to herself to never arrive late to lunch again, no matter the reason as she quickly headed over to her friends' table and sat down. They greeted her warmly and for the first time that day, she felt generally relaxed.

"Hey, Sheila," Hank greeted her, "how was the Algebra final?"

"Awful," Sheila replied, taking the pickle off her hamburger and setting it on her tray. "It took me an extra five minutes to finish it. That's why I'm late."

"I didn't think it was too bad when I took it," said Eric as he reached across the table and grabbed the pickle from her tray. He popped it in his mouth. "Then again," he continued, "I'm a guy and sometimes we're just naturally better at these kinds of things. I'll bet you aced the Home-Ec final. I never could get the cookies to turn out right."

Sheila looked over at the thin, dark-haired boy who winked impudently at her. She wrinkled her nose in response and gave him a swift kick under the table.

"Ow!" shouted the bespectacled Presto as he dropped his peanut butter and jelly sandwich onto the table. "What was that for?"

The others laughed as Sheila apologized. "Sorry, Presto. It was meant for the skinny pig over there," she said, pointing at Eric who held up his hands innocently.

"Eric," Diana said, "as I remember, you got a C-minus on your Algebra final last year."

"I did not," Eric replied indignantly.

"Yeah, I bet it was a _D-_minus," said Hank, laughing.

"I got a B-plus, you bunch of liars," said Eric. "And I actually earned an A, but Mrs. Colvert always did have it in for me."

"Yeah, yeah," said Albert. "Sure you did."

Hank stopped Eric before he could retort. "Anyway," he interrupted, "we all said we wanted to do something to celebrate the end of the school year, but tomorrow's the last day and we still don't have any plans yet. I was thinking about it last night and I think I've come up with something." Sheila's chest tightened as they all looked at Hank expectantly. He spread out his hands expansively. "How about a trip to Adventure Island?"

Sheila's heart sank at the suggestion while the others all reacted with enthusiasm to the idea. Tickets to Adventure Island weren't cheap. She had been hoping someone would suggest going to the beach or the lake: two trips she could possibly afford. She had decided not to make such a suggestion herself though, determined not to force her friends into a trip they really didn't want just because her family didn't have the money to afford something more exciting. It wasn't their fault that her father had been laid off, after all. And she absolutely wasn't going to ask them to pay her way.

"So are we all set?" Hank asked. "Can everyone go this coming Tuesday?" The others voiced their agreement or nodded in response.

Sheila took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I can't go that day," She answered quietly. Her friends all turned to her. She smiled as sincerely as she could and continued, "Actually, my dad has planned a trip for him, Bobby and me for next week, so I really can't go any day." She could tell that Hank was about to say something, but she cut him off before he had the chance. "And don't change your plans because of me. We're going to have a great time up at the lake. You guys go to Adventure Island next week. The further we get into the summer, the harder it will be to find a day that we all can go, anyway."

"It won't be the same without you, Sheila," Presto said.

Sheila smiled at her friend and she actually felt warm tears beginning to form behind her eyes, but she held them back, knowing that it wouldn't work for her friends to see her crying. That would ruin everything. Besides, it was just a stupid trip. Why get so worked up over it? She silently cursed her emotional nature. "Thanks, Presto, I appreciate that," she said, not looking directly into his eyes. "Well, I really need to go to the bathroom," she said standing up. "I never got a chance to go after the test."

She exited the cafeteria and headed quickly down the main hall of the school, bypassing the restrooms right next to the cafeteria and opting instead for the ones at the far end of the hall where she hoped for more privacy. By the time she entered the girls' room, tears were openly flowing down her cheeks. Thankfully, the room was empty except for herself. She went to the first sink and gripped the sides with both hands. "Get a grip, Sheila," she said, staring at herself in the mirror. Her complexion really wasn't one that handled tears well. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks were brightly flushed and the rest of her face was a chalky white. She ran cold water in the sink and splashed some on her face. She inspected herself again. There was little change except that now her entire face was wet and she had managed to get the ends of her hair wet as well. She tore off a rough paper towel from the dispenser and pressed it to her face as she sighed loudly to herself and leaned her back against the corner wall next to the sink. "I am such a mess," she groaned. Suddenly, she heard girls' voices coming down the hall and the restroom door opened. She quickly shoved the paper towel in her pocket, stepped back in front of the sink and, with her head bowed, began washing her hands.

Three girls entered, chattering indignantly about the unfair way they were treated by their English teacher. Sneaking a glance into the mirror, she recognized them as older girls, juniors or seniors maybe, but she knew none of them well. They ignored her presence as they entered three adjoining stalls and continued their conversation uninterrupted. Sheila looked at herself again. Her face was less ruddy now and her eyes a little less puffy. She decided that was about as good as it was going to get. After all, she couldn't hide out in the girls' room forever. After drying off her hands, she stepped into the main hall and headed back towards the cafeteria. She kept her head down and never looked behind her. If she had, she would have seen the figure who stepped out of the boys' room, stopped and watched her thoughtfully as she continued on her way.

The next afternoon, Sheila found herself in the school music room, celebrating the end of the year party with her fellow choir students. Sheila had been looking forward to this with a mix of joy and sadness. The party was always one of the highlights of the year. Since performing in the spring concert the previous weekend counted as the Choir final, there was no exam to take and Mrs. Bentley, the choir instructor, always went all out for the party. It was a time to celebrate the year and wish the graduating seniors good luck as they moved on to other things. Sheila loved being in choir. It gave her a chance to participate in something with other students while not having to stand out in the crowd. While she begrudgingly admitted that she was, perhaps, an above average singer, she always believed that Mrs. Bentley's effusive praise of her abilities was still mostly exaggeration.

"Bentley's right, you know," Brian Kingston, one of the graduating seniors and easily the most talented singer in the choir, was telling her with a cup of red punch in his hand. "You really should audition for a solo next year."

"Oh, no, I don't think so," Sheila said with a shake of her head. "I'm nowhere near good enough." The truth was, singing by herself in public scared her to death. Even if she did think she was good enough, which she was sure she wasn't, there was no way she was going to put herself through that.

"You're too hard on yourself," Brian said after taking a drink. "You're one of the best singers we've got. You should really give yourself a chance."

"That's just 'cause I taught her everything she knows," came a voice from behind Sheila. She turned to see Eric Pampier standing with a piece of cake in one hand, a fork in the other and his customary smirk on his face.

"But Eric," Brian said, "Sheila has a voice like a nightingale and yours, well, you sing more like a garbage disposal."

"Oh, hardy, har, har," said Eric. "You're a real riot, Brian. It's a shame you can't stay with us next year. Then again, maybe you will be back. I hear you had some trouble on that Government final."

"Stop it, you two," Sheila said. "Eric, you sing very well and everyone here is aware of that." This was true. Outside of their circle of choir friends, not many people knew that Eric actually had a good singing voice. He wasn't the best singer in the choir, but he held his own. "And Brian," she continued, "I'm sure you did just fine on your Government final." For Brian's sake, she hoped that this was true. He was a great singer, but he wasn't the most academic student in the world. It was no secret that he needed to pass that final in order to graduate. If he didn't, he was going to have to take the class during the summer session. Sheila had long suspected mutual jealousy; Eric's over Brian's voice and Brian's over Eric's mind, was the source of much of the tension between Eric and Brian.

"Yeah, well, anyway, we agree on one thing," Eric said, squeezing Sheila's shoulder. "You should audition for a solo next year, Sheila. You'd be a shoo-in." He smiled crookedly and then waved at Brian. "See ya around, tall, dark and tone deaf," he said before heading over to another group of students on the far side of the room.

"Idiot," Brian mumbled under his breath.

"Oh, he's not so bad," Sheila said. "He's just all talk. Once you get past that, he's actually a really good guy."

"If you say so," he responded dubiously. "So, you gonna try out next year?"

"Yeah, well, I don't know," Sheila said, lowering her eyes. The other truth was, she had always had a bit of a crush on Brian. He was tall and good looking with wavy brown hair and he sang like an angel. She knew he didn't see her the same way. She had just turned sixteen in January, making her two years his junior and he was dating Stephanie Wright, one of the senior sopranos. They had been together for over three years and were unlikely to break up any time soon. Besides, while he was a good guy, he was a bit on the thick side. She knew it was more hormones than anything else and so she didn't take it too seriously. Still, it was fun to daydream and there was no harm in _that_, was there?

"Yeah, well, I _do_ know and you're a great singer, Red." He had always called her "Red," something that would annoy Sheila if anyone else did it, but in Brian's case it was no problem at all.

"Maybe," she said, not really meaning it. "We'll have to see."

"Well, if you get a solo next year, drop me a line. I'll be sure to come back to see the concert."

"Really?" Sheila heard the excitement in her voice and she had to mentally remind herself not to act like a star-crazed nut around Brian. She covered by clearing her throat. "Really?" she tried again with a little less crazy in her voice this time.

"Really," Brian confirmed. "You know, Red, there's something I always wanted to-" Brian was cut off when the white-haired Mrs. Bentley suddenly walked over and put a hand on Brian's shoulder.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said to both of them. "Sheila, there's a call from the office for you," she said, pointing to the receiver on her desk.

"For me?" Sheila said, surprised. Why would she have a call from the office? She looked at her watch. There were maybe thirty minutes left to her sophomore year. Could whatever it was really not wait until next year? She looked at Brian and gave an apologetic shrug before walking across the room to pick up the receiver.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Is this Sheila Flynn?"

"Yes."

"Sheila, this is Mrs Collins from Jackson Elementary. We need you to come pick up your brother Bobby and take him home."

Sheila looked at her watch again as her pulse quickened. The Elementary schools got out a half hour after the high school and Bobby usually rode the bus home. There was enough going on in their lives without something going wrong with Bobby.

"Why, what's happened?" she asked. "Is he sick?"

"No, he's, well, he got hurt."

"Hurt?" she asked, panic working its way into her voice. "How bad?" On the periphery of her vision, she noticed some of the other students nearby stopping their conversations and turning toward her.

"Oh, it's not bad, dear," Mrs. Collins said apologetically. "He just got into a little fight."

At this, her fear vanished, but it was not replaced by relief. "He got into another fight?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. "Why can't our dad-" she cut herself off. "Never mind," she said. Their dad had enough to worry about without having to pick up Bobby from school for the third time in two years for being in a fight. "Mrs. Collins," she pleaded, "this is the last day of school and we're taking finals and stuff here. Can I just pick him up when we're done?"

"The office told us you were finished with your finals," Mrs. Collins said, confusion in her voice.

Sheila sighed quietly. "Yes, I am, but we're having a party in choir and after school I have to go straight to work."

"Sheila, I'm sorry, but we really need you to come get Bobby now. There's a lot going on today as you can imagine and we really don't have the people to spare to keep an eye on him in the office. This has already been cleared with Principal Black at your school and they're expecting you to go down and sign out at your office." There was a pause. "I'm sorry, Dear." she said then.

"I'll be right there," Sheila said between gritted teeth. She hung up the phone, grabbed her purse off one of the chairs and walked over to Mrs. Bentley. She opened her mouth to explain why she was leaving, but Mrs. Bentley stopped her with a wave of her hand.

"They explained it to me on the phone, Sheila. You go, have a good summer."

"Thank you, Mrs. Bentley, you too." She stormed out the door without bothering to say goodbye to anyone.

The rule on needing a hall pass was always a bit relaxed on the last day of school and lots of kids were in the halls now saying their goodbyes and wishing each other well over the summer break. Sheila saw Hank Shepherd at his locker talking to a boy she didn't recognize.

"Hey, Sheila," he said, his head turning to follow her as she walked by, "what's up?"

Sheila stopped and turned back to Hank. She gave a grunt of exasperation then. "Oh, it's Bobby he-" she gave another grunt. She didn't want to have to explain it all right then. It would just make her angrier. "Hank, you really don't want to know," she snapped. She turned and left him standing there with a surprised look on his face as she continued her march down the hall.

Thirty-five minutes later, Sheila threw herself down into her car seat and slammed the car door closed. Bobby was standing by the front passenger-side door but then he seemed to think better of that and opted for the back door instead. He sat down without saying a word, eyes on the floor mats.

"_Another_ fight, Bobby?" Sheila growled while starting the car. It took a second try for the motor to catch. The car was more than a decade old and it sometimes took a while to get going. It had been a birthday gift from their mother's parents this year. They claimed they didn't need a car this big anymore. Their father had actually become choked up at the gift. He had always worked so hard to provide for them, but things had gotten so much worse after their mother's death and then things really hit bottom after he got laid off. After that, he had never expected to be able to give Sheila a car and now she had one. She was very grateful for it, though for the first time she wished she had ridden the bus to school instead so she could have told Mrs. Collins that Bobby was on his own today. It would serve her brother right to have to wait a few more hours for someone to get him.

"He called Mom a bad word," Bobby said.

Sheila stewed in silence for a moment before finally responding. "Who, that Jeffrey kid?"

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

Bobby repeated the word and Sheila actually blanched slightly.

"Bobby, do you know what word means?"

"No, what?"

"Never mind, just promise me you'll never use it again."

"But-"

"Promise, Bobby! Mom and Daddy both would be ashamed to hear that word come out of your mouth."

"OK, OK, but I was just telling you what he said."

"I know, Bobby, just don't say it any more."

"OK, hey why aren't we going home?"

Sheila felt her blood pressure rise even further. "Well, Bobby, let's see. I was having a wonderful time at our choir party, talking to a great guy when I got a phone call saying that I had to leave to go pick up my little punk of a brother because he got in yet another fight. In the hurry, I forgot to clean out my locker . Now we have to go back and clean it out and I'm probably going to be late for work. That answer your question?"

"Oh. Yes."

"Good."

There was silence in the car for a few minutes while Sheila fumed. After a while, Bobby's voice piped up again.

"Sheila?"

Sheila took a deep breath and responded as calmly as she thought she could. "Yes, Bobby?"

"I'm sorry about all this, but you heard what he called Mom."

That did it. Sheila slammed on the brakes and jerked the car off the road and onto the shoulder. She put the car in park, threw off her seat belt and spun around in her seat, her green eyes flashing. Bobby was staring at his sister, his face pale and his eyes very wide. The car rocked slightly as other vehicles flew by it on the highway.

"Bobby," Sheila snapped, "this isn't the first time this has happened. Do you have any idea why these boys insult Mom?"

"Be-because they're jerks?"

"Yes, Bobby, they're jerks, but that's why they pick on kids in general. Why do you think they pick on you specifically about our mother when they never met her?"

"I dunno."

"It's because of _you_," she said acidly. "It's your fault these kids keep trashing Mom. They do it because every time they do, you go off the deep end and they find it hilarious. They do it to get a reaction out of you. If you'd just stop acting like a lunatic every time someone says something bad about our mother, they'd quit trashing her name." Sheila turned around and sat normally in her seat. "It's your fault, Bobby," she said while putting the car in drive and pulling back into traffic.

The car was silent again. After a moment, Sheila looked at Bobby in the rear-view mirror and saw him staring out the passenger window with tears in his eyes. Sheila immediately regretted what she had said. After their mother's funeral, her father had told them that they needed to stick together more than ever now and what was Sheila doing? She was taking all her frustrations about their money, the trip she couldn't go on and missing the party and dumping it all on a nine-year-old kid who just missed his mother.

"Bobby, I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean all that."

Bobby sniffed. "That's OK."

"No, it isn't. Look, part of what I said is true. I think those boys do say those things to get a rise out of you and if you'd stop taking the bait, I think things might get better. But it isn't fair to say it's your fault they insult Mom. It's their fault. They know exactly what they're doing and you're right about one thing; they _are_ jerks. But Bobby, you Dad and I need to stick together. This is a really tough time for all of us and we each need to do our part. Dad's getting whatever odd jobs he can while going out there every day and trying to get another job. I'm trying to take care of you and work when I can. We need you to try and do better about handling your reactions to these jerks so that Dad isn't distracted by the trouble you keep getting into. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Bobby said. "I do, I really do, Sis."

Sheila smiled. It was always a good sign whenever Bobby called her "Sis." It was his way of saying that everything was all right between them.

"Good," she replied while pulling into the nearly empty high school parking lot. "You want to help me clean out my locker now?"

"Sure, why not?" Bobby said with a smile.

Sheila parked the car. "Good, there's an empty box in the trunk. Grab it for me, will you?"

Except for two lingering teachers who were still wishing each other a good summer, Sheila and Bobby were the only ones left in the sophomore hallway. It was strange seeing the hall empty with most of the lockers left open and a few pieces of crumpled paper lying here and there on the floor. It reminded Sheila of a ghost town. When they got to her locker, Sheila was surprised to see a white envelope sticking out of it. She plucked it from the vent where it had been placed and opened it curiously. Inside was a type-written letter and something else that felt like cardboard. She took out the letter first and opened it. It read:

_Sheila, I thought these might come in handy. _

_Why don't you invite Bobby along too? You both could use a break._

Below that, in block handwriting, the following was written:

_ Also, all of your things from your locker are in a box in the office. _

_They said they'd hold it for you for a few days if you need them to._

"What is it?" Bobby asked, stretching to try and read over her shoulder.

"I don't know," she replied. She looked into the envelope and took out two pieces of white cardboard. She flipped them over. In her hand, she was holding one adult and one child ticket to Adventure Island.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Hank

Monday, May 30th 1983

Memorial Day

One Day Before The Roller Coaster Ride

Hank Shepherd walked into the kitchen. His parents and his baby brother were already finishing up breakfast when he sat down and poured himself a bowl of cereal. "Good morning, Sleepyhead," chimed his mother. "I was beginning to think you'd sleep in all day."

"I guess I was just tired," the blond boy responded. though that was not the true reason for his tardiness to the breakfast table. He had been rehearsing what he wanted to say upstairs in his bedroom and he had also hoped that if he waited long enough, his mother would be giving Kevin a bath and Hank would have his step-dad to himself. He wasn't disappointed.

"Oh, Kevin, you're a frightful mess," his mother declared, picking up the thirteen-month-old from his high chair. "I think it's time for your bath, Mister." Kevin gurgled happily and pasted one sticky hand on his mothers face. She laughed and exited the kitchen. Hank ate his cereal in silence. When he finished, he looked across the table at his step-father.

Ron Carlson was reading the paper and finishing up his morning coffee. At thirty-six years old, he was just beginning to show a touch of gray in the full mane of shaggy brown hair that he kept pulled back in a ponytail. His brown eyes were kind and were often filled with laughter. He was a good man and he was the only father Hank had ever known. Ron had also lost a father to war and Hank knew that he would understand his request better than his mother. "Dad," Hank began, "I have something to ask you."

Ron looked up from his paper for the first time since Hank had entered the kitchen. His smile was a bit bewildered. "Good morning, Hank," he greeted cheerfully. "I didn't even hear you come in." Ron Carlson was a good man and a wonderful father, but he could be a bit distracted at times, especially when he was reading. "What's on your mind, son?" he asked.

Hank dove in. "Dad, I was wondering...I was hoping that maybe I could go to the cemetery by myself today. I know we usually all go together, but..." he trailed off then, the words he had memorized failing him. Ron was looking at Hank with a thoughtful expression on his face, his eyes still full of kindness, and also understanding. Hank knew that he would give him as long as he needed to regain his thoughts and after a moment, the words came back to him. "But I'm seventeen now and can go by myself. Kevin's too young to understand any of this and Mom was only married to Dad for a couple of years and most of that time, he was gone and you..." here Hank trailed off again. Thankfully, his step-father saved him the embarrassment of having to say the words he couldn't quite get out.

"And I'm the man who married your father's wife and had another son by her?" Ron finished with a sad smile. Hank nodded, looking down at his cereal.

"Son," Ron said, taking Hank's chin in his right hand and lifting his head so their eyes met again. "First, never be afraid to look me in the eye." He let go with his hand then and Hank held his gaze. "Second," he continued, "I know exactly how you feel. You have no real memory of your father. The memories of him that you do have are of the cemetery and you've always had to share them with your mother and me and now with your half-brother. You've never been alone with him and maybe you have some things you'd like to tell him?"

Hank nodded, slightly surprised at his step-father's insight into Hank's own thinking.

"Here, take the wagon," Ron pulled the keys out of his pocket and slid them across the table. "It needs to be gassed up anyway. And I'll smooth things over with your mother, don't worry about that. She'll understand." He stopped then as they both heard the sound of water draining from the tub in the hall bathroom. "You'd better get going if you want to avoid her questions, though," he whispered with a sly wink. Hank picked up the keys with a grateful smile. He started to turn towards the door, but he turned back to his step-father instead. "Thanks, Dad," he said simply. He then turned and exited quickly, leaving Ron to go back to his paper and his coffee.

It was a cool, sunny morning at the Lake Park Cemetery. Although it was not yet noon, the cemetery was already blanketed in flowers, wreaths, flags and banners of red, white and blue; Hank was clearly not among the first wave of visitors to honor family and friends that day. He stood before the dark gray headstone as he had many times in the past, though this was the first time he ever did so alone. He stood quietly with his hands folded behind his back and his head bowed slightly as he re-read the familiar words:

Robert Donald Shepherd

Beloved Husband and Father

April 15, 1948 – June 27th, 1968

The flowers that Hank had proudly purchased and placed in the vase next to the headstone now looked embarrassingly modest next to some of the more elaborate displays on the surrounding tombstones. He hoped that his father wouldn't have minded. The cool breeze ruffled his light jacket and birds chittered at each other in the nearby maples while the soft, murmured voices of other visitors drifted to him on the breeze. He took a photograph and a piece of folded paper out of his jacket pocket. He looked at the picture of his father that had been taken right before he left for Vietnam. Ever since Hank was a little boy, he had been told how much he resembled his father and now that he was nearly grown, he had come to realize just how true that was. Hank shared his father's strong build, blue eyes and blond hair, although his father had worn his in a military cut much shorter than Hank's nearly shoulder-length hair. Robert Shepherd was smiling in the picture and it was a smile Hank had seen often on his own face in the countless pictures his mother had hanging up in the house. Hank set the picture down on the ground leaning against the headstone. He looked around a bit self-consciously and then unfolded the paper and began to read aloud.

"Dad," he began, "I'm sorry that I have to read this to you, but I've never done this before and I wanted to make sure I said everything right. I'm seventeen years old now and if I'm reading this to you, then it means that mom let me come to the cemetery by myself this year.

"Let's see, we just finished another school year and I guess things went pretty well. I got mostly Bs and a few As, but nothing lower than a B-minus. I got the B-minus in Geometry. Mom said math was always your worst subject too, so I guess that's something we share. I'm not really dating anyone right now, but I did take Diana to the winter formal dance. She's really great, but we're just friends. I asked Mom afterward if it would have bothered you that I went to a dance with a black girl. She said that it wouldn't have bothered you at all and that you would have been really proud of me for having such a great friend like Diana and the others. I'm glad to hear that about you.

"I'm the quarterback for the football team. We were four and two in our conference and seven and four overall, so I guess that's not too bad. We're keeping most of our best players next year and we aren't losing that many seniors, so that's pretty good. It's hard being the quarterback, you know? There's a lot of stress involved and half the time I wonder if I'm really the best choice for the position. You can't think like that when you're on the field though and I try not to. It isn't always easy though.

"I guess that's all that's going on at school. The thing is, the real reason that I wrote this letter was because I wanted to talk about you, not me. I really, really wish I had gotten to know you, Dad. I often wonder what you were like and Mom is always happy to answer whatever questions I have, but the thing is, she didn't really know you all that well either. I mean, she did, because you got married, but you had only been dating for a couple of years before you got married and you were killed less than two years after that. I think there are a lot of things about you that she never got to find out and there are other things that she just doesn't remember. Grandma does, but I think it makes her sad when I ask her about you, so I don't do it much anymore.

"Mom doesn't know I did this, but I did some research on your tour in Vietnam and what happened the day you died. I did it for my term paper in English class. She always told me that your unit was ambushed by the Vietcong and that you were all killed. I guess you know that's all true, but I found out that it was just part of the story. She never told me that you were the commanding officer of your unit or that you were the one who accidentally led them into the ambush.

"You've always been a hero to me, Dad. My whole life you were the war hero who died fighting for his country against impossible odds. That's still true I guess, but now I see that the story isn't quite so neat. It isn't quite so simple. You made a mistake and a lot of men died for it, including you.

"The truth is, Dad, that I'm not sure what to do with any of this. After he read my paper, my English teacher Mr. O'Brien wanted to talk to me. He could tell that I was bothered by what I had found out and he suggested that I write about it in a letter and read it to you. So, that's what I'm doing. I don't really know what else to say. This year, my father the war hero became my father the ordinary man capable of a really bad mistake. Like I said, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with that. I know it changes something about how I feel and how I see things, but I'm still not sure how.

"That's about all I had to say, Dad. You should know that Ron's a real good guy. He's been a great step-father to me and he treats Mom like a queen. Mom once told me that if you could have picked out the perfect guy to be Mom's second husband, Ron's the guy you would have picked. I think she's probably right."

Hank folded the letter up and stuck it back in his hip pocket. He knelt down then on one knee and reached out with his right hand to trace the black lettering that summed up his father's life in four terse words. "I miss you," he said. He picked up the photograph and stood back on his feet. He started to turn away when he remembered something that he hadn't had time to put in the letter.

"I almost forgot," he said, turning back to the headstone with a small smile. "Tomorrow, the gang and I are going to Adventure Island to kind of kick off summer break. Mom says that's where you two met for the first time. She says she was working at one of the burger stands and you showed up one day with a bunch of your friends and that you all were hitting on her." He gave a short laugh before continuing. "She says that you showed up by yourself the next day and came up to the counter eight times that day to order a Coke. After the eighth one, she got so tired of you coming up and not saying anything to her except, 'Coke, please,' that _she_ asked _you_ out." Hank laughed again, but his smile turned slightly melancholy. "I guess it was meant to be, even if not for very long." Hank stood there silently for a moment, looking at the headstone. "Bye, Dad," he said then and gave a small wave before walking back to the car.

Hank got behind the steering wheel, buckled up and started the engine. The radio came to life and_ Whimsical Journey_ blared from the speakers. Hank headed home, his mind elsewhere, unaware that he was singing along softly with the lyrics:

"_Hey, hey, Baby, ride along with me  
>We're all headed to that wild party<br>It's hazy, it's crazy, it's real woolly daisy  
>Don't need your car, just you wait and see<br>We'll get there in a blink, easy as can be"_


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Dungeon Master

The Realm of Dungeons and Dragons

Six Hours Before the Arrival

On a precipice high above the Blue Plains sat a solitary figure in a red cloak trimmed in gold. Upon his head was a crown of flowing white hair which reached past his waist. His eyes were closed and his legs were crossed. His hands were folded together with his index fingers steepled and resting upon his lips. The first two of his world's four suns were rising above the woods behind him, casting an impossibly long shadow of cliff and man across the surface of the plains beneath him. The avian inhabitants of those woods were greeting the suns with their twittering songs while searching for their breakfast upon the dark, rich soil.

The Dungeon Master, for that is who the little man was, was unaware of all of this. He had long ago learned the skill of filtering out all distractions from his consciousness so that he could focus on one single idea. And now he was focusing on a memory that he had once thought long buried in the past, but which he now uncovered with the attention and care of an archeologist uncovering a fragment of ancient manuscript once believed to be lost to time. He sifted through his own mind deeper and deeper, deftly searching through years upon years of joys, torments, celebrations and failures. He brushed away the mental dust of centuries until at last he came across the one moment in time that was the object of his search. He allowed it to envelop him, to take him back to what he had once considered to be his own place and his own time, but which no longer was. He felt himself travel through the centuries and through other universes until he reached that moment and place. He saw a room at the top of a tall tower. There were two boys there and they appeared to be tending to the fire in the ornate fireplace, but before he could bring any more into focus, the vision faded and darkness surrounded him. He opened his eyes.

He sat alone in a universe of nothingness. Surrounded by total blackness, he heard, felt and smelled nothing. He saw only himself, though there was no light source that could possibly be illuminating his body and clothes. He could not stand from his meditative position, for he could feel no floor beneath him, but neither did he feel a sense of weightlessness or falling. Wherever he looked, everything was the same, unrelieved nothingness.

"Where am I?" he asked into the void.

"The past," whispered the answer in a voice that caused Dungeon Master's pulse to quicken. Dungeon Master recognized that voice quite well. The appearance of this voice was an indication that something quite momentous was about to occur. He breathed deeply in an attempt to steady himself, but in this place, the air was without scent or weight and brought no comfort. He sat in the silence, waiting to see if more information would be forthcoming. "I do not understand," he finally replied.

"You seek refuge in the past," the voice continued, "but you do not see the past for what it is. It is emptiness, nothing and void. It is not a place which you can visit. It does not exist."

"But is it not necessary that I learn from the past?"

"It is."

"But to seek solace there?"

"Peace cannot be found in the past. It is not there."

"And where can peace be found?"

"You already know the answer to that question."

Dungeon Master supposed that he did. "Why are you here?" he asked.

"I have been sent to give you grave, yet welcome news. The task for which you have been preparing all these many years is upon you. The visitors are at the gate, ready to enter. You must be there when they arrive to welcome them to this Realm even as you yourself were once welcomed upon your arrival."

Before he could respond, Dungeon Master found himself once again upon the precipice. There had been no fading or shattering of the darkness. The familiar cliff and plains were simply there once more. From the brightness in the sky and the warmth in the air, he knew that all four of the suns must have crested the tops of the trees behind him by now. He got to his feet and brushed the dust from his robes. He breathed in the air, pleased to feel its weight enter his lungs and to smell the fresh aromas of plants, earth and animals. He looked out over the Blue Plains. Several miles distant, he could see the beginnings of the Dragon's Teeth, the series of floating stalactite-like stones that hovered hundreds of feet over the central and western portions of the Plains without any visible means of support. Further out, where the floating stones grew thickest, he could just make out the tall, barren and unnamed cliffs that made up the western boundary of the Blue Plains. "That is where I am to go?" he asked, pointing out towards the cliffs.

"Yes," came the response from behind him. For the first time since this encounter began, there was a sense of location to the other voice. Dungeon Master chose to honor the other's decision not to be seen and did not turn to look. "Even after all this time, I do not feel ready," he said.

"You will not be alone."

Dungeon Master nodded. "That is enough," he replied. "Thank you for bringing me this news," he said.

"It is my duty and my pleasure," the voice responded simply. There was silence then and Dungeon Master knew that the other presence was no longer with him upon the precipice. Far across the plains, above the western series of cliffs, a dark shape took to the sky and began flying in slowly ascending circles. Faintly, just at the edges of his ability to hear, he caught the sound of a beastly cry as the shape continued to rise into the air.

"And so it begins," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Adventure Island

Thirty Minutes Before the Roller Coaster Ride

"Hey look," Bobby cried, "the Dungeons and Dragons ride!" He took off at a run leaving the others behind him.

"Bobby!" Sheila shouted, starting after him.

"Oh, let him go," Hank said. "He's having fun and we can still see him. We'll catch up in a sec."

"I guess you're right." Sheila took another bite of her cotton candy. The sugary fluff melted in her mouth and turned into a rich, sweet syrup that ran down her throat as she swallowed. She couldn't remember the last time she had tasted cotton candy and she was sure that she had never had any that tasted this good.

The day so far had been perfect. The blue sky was cloudless and the sun was warm enough on her skin to make her sweat just a little bit, but not so much as to dampen her clothes at all, exactly as the summer sun should. They were surrounded by people of every age and color laughing and chatting away. From various distances and heights, Sheila could hear the joyful screaming of passengers on rides that spun them in circles, dropped them down hills, hurled them through loops, or perhaps did all of these at the same time. The air was thick with the scents of french fries, pizza, funnel cakes and hot dogs and over all of that, she could smell from herself and her friends the unique scent of sunscreen: that smell that had hints of coconut and vanilla, but yet was totally unlike any other smell in the world and, to Sheila, was the smell of summer.

Hank was right and after a moment the five of them caught up with Bobby who was staring at the huge dragon's head that made up the entrance to the Dungeons and Dragons roller coaster that was one of the park's newer attractions. Like Space Mountain at Disney World, this was an enclosed roller coaster, but unlike the Disney ride, this one was fashioned to actually look like a mountain from the outside. Unlike most roller coasters that consist of a train of cars linked together, this ride was made up of individual cars that each had two rows of seats. Each row could hold three or four people, depending on their size. As the friends watched, a red car full of screaming, preteen girls flew into the gaping, fanged maw of the green beast that had caught Bobby's attention. "Cool," Bobby said.

They waited as three more cars entered the ride, each one leaving behind the echoes of its passengers' screams. As a fourth car entered the dragon's head, the first car they had seen came out of a side exit and pulled up to the platform where the girls could exit. They were still laughing and screaming and appeared to be having the time of their young lives. "Let's go on again," one of them suggested to her friends and, giggling all the way, they made their way back to the start of the line.

"Can we go on?" Bobby asked the others. "Please?"

Diana smiled, "I don't know, it looks kind of scary," she teased.

"You know," Eric said quietly, looking from side to side as if he was about to share a dark secret, "I heard from a guy that works here that last year they had to shut the ride down for a week after some German kid fell out of his car and onto the tracks. He was run over by the car behind him. Cut him right in half."

"Wow," Bobby said, eyes wide.

"Eric," Sheila said in a disapproving tone.

"What?" Eric asked with his hands out to both sides. "It's true. There was almost an international incident 'cause the boy's family had defected across the wall from East Germany into West Germany the year before. Both countries demanded that the body be returned to them. We finally had to ship one half to each country just to keep the thing from escalating into a nuclear war."

"Eric, you're an idiot," Presto said. Eric winked in response.

"I know you guys are just trying to scare me," Bobby said. "It won't work. So can we please just ride it?"

"OK, OK," Hank said, laughing. "Let's go ride."

Twenty minutes later, they were boarding their own red car. Hank, Sheila and Bobby sat in the front row while Presto, Eric and Diana sat in the back. Hank pulled down the lap bar and it locked in place over the three sets of knees. Sheila could hear the lap bar behind them clicking into place too. "Ow," she heard Eric's voice cry out from behind her.

"Sorry," came Presto's reply. "I didn't realize how much your legs stick up."

"Well, be more careful. You nearly broke my kneecaps."

Presto's response was cut off as the six of them were thrown back into their seats as the car took off and entered the mountain through the dragon's head. First, they were surrounded by darkness. Then they all shouted in surprise as the car dropped down an unseen hill and into the inky depths of the mountain. It seemed to Sheila like it would drop forever and she screamed wildly. She could hear the voices of the others who were also screaming and laughing at the same time. Eventually, Sheila felt her stomach lurch as the car came to the bottom of the first hill and raced up yet another. It tore down that hill and bounced over three more, jostling Sheila against Hank and Bobby. Finally, the hills leveled off and the car slowed down. In the darkness, Sheila could make out a light ahead coming out of a tunnel. The car entered the tunnel and Sheila let out an involuntary gasp as they found themselves surrounded by thirty-foot tall creatures straight out of a fantasy book. She laughed at herself for being foolish as she realized that they were being menaced by nothing more than animatronic beasts. The creatures raised and lowered swords and other weapons as the car passed under a large green dragon that actually breathed real fire. They all ducked as the fire flashed above the car and, even though Sheila knew it couldn't have been dangerous, she actually felt the heat from the flame as it shot overhead.

"Wow, neat!" Bobby exclaimed.

"Gimme a break," Eric's voice came from behind, clearly trying to sound unimpressed.

Suddenly, there was a great screeching sound of metal on metal and the car jerked violently to the left and then to the right as if it were trying to wrest itself from the tracks it rode upon. The friends were thrown against each other as the gyrations of the car increased and the lights in the tunnel began flashing and strobing all around them and new lights came on and off and flashed and pulsed and swirled and the car shook more and more and more until Sheila feared that she was going to be sick.

"I don't like this," she cried out as the others began to scream. Their screams were real this time with no hint of laughter in them. The nightmarish colors all coalesced into one brilliant tunnel of pulsating blue light. In that light, Sheila saw the impossible. The track in front of them was _moving_. It was undulating up and down like waters being tossed in a furious storm. It couldn't be happening. There was no way that metal could _do_ that. The car jerked and shook as it approached the writhing section of track and Sheila shut her mouth, closed her eyes and gripped the lap bar with one hand and held on to Bobby with the other. She was dimly aware that Hank was doing the same to her. Sheila knew what would happen when the car hit that section of track. "No," she breathed. And then it happened.

She heard the track shatter as the car hit it. She opened her eyes and saw the track break away beneath them. The car flew down the tunnel of light under its own power and its speed increased by the second. The shaking was so violent now that Sheila's teeth rattled in her head and she feared they might actually crack. Then, she could hear the metal bolts that held the car together rattle loosely in their holes as the car itself began to come apart. The screaming sound of metal tearing itself into pieces nearly deafened her and she screamed again as the car bucked one last time, throwing them all into the air before it disintegrated beneath them.

They were in the tunnel of light without a car, but they did not fall. Bobby and Hank were still on either side of Sheila, but they were no longer close enough for her to reach. Sheila looked into the tunnel. There was no end to it. It just went on and on and somehow, their speed was still increasing as they continued to fly down it. The speed became impossibly fast as the air rushing past her felt as if it were going to tear off her clothes and rip out her hair. She screamed and screamed as blackness began to encroach the edges of her vision. The tunnel of light was being devoured by a tunnel of darkness as her grip on consciousness became more and more tenuous. _So this is what it's like to die_, she thought to herself as the blackness overcame her and she thought no more.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Nowhere

The young man came to and found himself lying on his back looking up into a dim, gray, featureless sky. He sat up and took in his surroundings. The bland grayness of the sky continued as far as he could see in every direction. There was no sun and the meager light in this place was diffused and seemed to have no source. The dusty air was exceptionally dry and it stung his nose as he breathed. The ground was white, grainy, and absolutely flat. While it was hard, it also had a very slight give to it, like densely packed earth. Like the sky, the ground stretched out changelessly before him in all directions. There was no sound, except for that of his own movement and breathing.

He felt weak, used up and empty. He had no memory of who he was or how he had come to be in this place. What memories he did have were were a confusing jumble of colors, sounds and impressions that he was unable to reassemble into any meaningful pattern.

He heard something then, in the distance. It sounded as if, far away, two unimaginably large boulders were tumbling and crashing against each other. The ground beneath him began to tremble as well. He stood up, taking a wide legged stance to steady himself. After a moment, both the sound and the trembling stopped. Another sound filled the air then. It was a scratching sound, like one stick of wood rubbing against an other. Without warning, a dark line shot across the ground from left to right about ten yards in front of the young man. He could see no end to the line in either direction, though he had the impression that the line curved slightly as it headed off to the right. Hank suddenly realized with shock that he could remember who he was. He could also remember the nightmarish roller coaster ride that had brought him here. He felt something odd then and he looked down at himself in surprise. He did not know what, if anything, he was wearing when he arrived at this place, but his current clothing wasn't it.

He was wearing a hooded green long-sleeved shirt and matching hose, over which he wore a studded brown leather tunic belted at the waist. The tunic was thick and very heavy as were the leather boots he was wearing that came almost to his knees. Hank was still staring at himself in disbelief when the terrible crashing sound from before repeated itself, followed by the momentary earthquake. A second or two later, another dark line shot across the white plain. This time, the line formed just a few inches in front of him, which gave him a better chance to study it. The surface of the line was smoother than the white ground. It was nearly black and was about eighteen inches wide. When Hank bent down to touch it, he discovered that the line had a slick, greasy feel to it and it left a dark smudge upon his fingers.

Hank was still staring at the smudge when he felt a jolt of energy pass through him. The weak, empty feeling he had felt vanished and he suddenly felt as strong and healthy as he ever had. He could actually feel each of the muscles in his back, legs, arms, neck and shoulders. He could feel them as they repeatedly tensed and relaxed and he discovered that he had an uncontrollable urge to run. He indulged it.

Hank enjoyed exercise and had always been a good athlete, but he had never run like this. He nearly flew across the white ground as he pumped his arms and legs and he breathed in the dry air of this strange land. He ran faster still, faster than he ever had and he actually began to laugh at the sheer joy of it. He ran on and as he ran, that same, distant crashing sound repeated itself several times and each time it was accompanied by the earth tremors and more dark lines shooting across the ground. After a while, the crashing and trembling finally stopped for good and no more dark lines marred the surface of the ground. Hank slowed to a walk and then he too stopped. He looked around him.

Except for the strange lines on the ground, nothing in the environment had changed physically. He had been running for at least several minutes and quite possibly much longer than that, yet everything here looked just as it did wherever he had started his run. Hank began to worry. For the first time since entering this strange land, he remembered the others. What about Sheila and Bobby? They had been seated next to him in the car. Where were they? Eric, Presto and Diana had been seated right behind them. Why weren't they here either? Had any of them survived whatever had happened to them? As far as that went, had _he_ survived?

One after another, Hank called out the names of his friends. Five times the sound of his voice faded into the distance with no response. He tried again. Still no response. Where were they? What had happened on that roller coaster and why was he here wearing these bizarre clothes?

"What is going on?" he cried out into the gray silence. No response. "Answer me!" he shouted. When he still got no response, Hank threw himself to his knees and began pounding his fists into the white ground. "I want," _pound_ "to know," _pound_ "what is going on!" _pound_. At that last pound, something in the ground gave way and Hank felt his right fist go further down than it had before. He had punched a fist-sized hole through the rough chalky ground, revealing an inky blackness about three inches below the surface. Hank got down on his hands and knees and put his right eye to the hole. He sucked in his breath at what he saw. _Stars_. There were countless stars in the sea of blackness. It was as if he were looking into the night sky or outer space, he wasn't sure which.

Hank got back on his knees and with both hands, he gripped the edge of the hole he had made. He pulled, straining his muscles. A twelve-inch wide strip of the ground came up. He stood and continued to pull, walking backward as he did so. After walking back a few feet, he dropped the strip he was holding and though it was still attached to the ground near Hank's feet, the rest of it fell through the long tear he had made and dangled into the dark emptiness below the surface. Hank went back to the original hole he had made. He grabbed the ground again from a spot about forty-five degrees around the hole from the first tear. The ground nearer the hole was sagging beneath his weight and he wobbled uncertainly as he and repeated the tearing procedure. When he finished, he inspected his handiwork.

Hank essentially had torn a large "V" into the ground with the hole at the point where the two lines of the "V" came together. The triangle of ground in between the two lines was now only connected to the surface at its wide, open end, so it hung from there and dangled below the surface. This left a large triangle-shaped hole in the ground which gave Hank a far better view of what existed beneath it. Unfortunately, he was no more sure as to what that was. He sat on his knees along the second tear he had made and held on to the edge with both hands as he leaned over it. He could see more stars and more blackness, but nothing else that could give him any clue as to where he was or what was going on. As far as he knew, he might have been dreaming this entire adventure. He was about to decide that this was in fact the case when he heard a loud tearing sound. A sickening feeling hit his stomach as the piece of ground he was sitting on gave way. He leaned back up, planning to scramble back to surer ground, but it was too late. He screamed as he tumbled backward and into the dark void among the cold, uncaring stars.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The Realm

The ground was rushing at Eric as he tumbled through the air. He was dimly aware of the others around him who were also falling, their shouts of surprise and fear mingling with his own. He fell past what appeared to be strange, floating rocks, nearly striking one of them with his right shoulder. The ground was much closer now and was approaching very quickly. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the horrible impact.

After a moment, he realized that the impact hadn't come and he no longer felt the wind rushing past him. He opened his eyes and found himself drifting lazily towards the ground with the others as if they were sinking to the bottom of a swimming pool. While his friends landed gracefully on their feet, he landed hard and nearly collapsed in the dirt. He staggered, bent over with his arms spread wide as he fought regain his balance. Once he was sure that he wouldn't pitch forward onto his face, Eric straightened up, grunting in surprise at the effort this required. He realized then just why he had hit the ground so hard.

The clothing that Eric had worn to the park that morning had been replaced by medieval-style armor, the weight of which had nearly driven him to his knees when he landed on the ground. Underneath a bronze breastplate and a skirt-like faulds, he wore chain mail that protected his upper arms and thighs. Bronze gauntlets covered his hands. His legs and feet from the knees on down were completely ensconced in steel plate armor and from his shoulders hung a bright scarlet cape of a thick, heavy fabric. Eric stared at himself in total incomprehension. What on earth was going on? The last thing he remembered was something going wrong with the roller coaster ride at Adventure Land. There had been a bright light and then...had he been somewhere else? His memory was becoming jumbled and confused. The next thing he could clearly remember was falling through the sky above these rocky, barren cliffs that somehow had cone shaped rocks floating above them.

Eric looked at his friends and found that they were examining themselves just as he had done. For the first time, Eric realized that they were also wearing strange garb, though no two of them were wearing the same kind of clothing.

Hank was standing in front of Eric, rubbing one hand over the fabric covering his arms as if testing to see if his clothes were actually real. His outfit looked to Eric like something Robin Hood might wear. He wore a hooded green shirt and matching leggings that were covered by a metal-studded leather tunic that was belted at the waist. He also wore leather boots that ended just below his knees.

To Eric's left, Sheila was twisting around, apparently trying to get a look at herself from behind. She was wearing a simple lavender dress with a modest neckline that covered her upper arms and came down to her mid-thigh. A light blue band of fabric served as a belt around her waist. She wore brown leather boots that came up past her knees to just under the hemline of the dress. For some reason, Eric's mouth was suddenly very dry and it was not without some regret that he turned his eyes to Presto.

Presto was next to Sheila, wearing a dark, wide-sleeved green robe that went to his feet and was belted around his waist with a golden strip of fabric. There was a pouch of matching gold fabric attached to the belt. Eric was glad to note that, while none of the others seemed to have any of their original clothing or belongings, Presto still had his glasses. The kid was almost totally blind without them. Next to Presto stood Bobby.

Bobby appeared to be pleased, smiling widely as he checked out his new clothes. He was wearing a horned, steel helmet that was cocked slightly to one side. Like Hank, he wore a top of metal-studded leather, but Bobby's consisted of two wide strips that formed an X across his otherwise bare chest and attached to a belt made of similar material at his waist. He wore short pants made of dark furred animal hide that left his legs mostly bare. On his feet he wore matching boots. Suddenly, Eric heard someone give a small, quiet gasp. He turned from Bobby to see Presto staring open-mouthed off to his right through his thick, round glasses. Eric followed the other boy's gaze to Diana, who stood off to Eric's right.

He could see why the girl had so captivated Presto's attention. She was wearing what resembled a bikini, but was made out of a furry animal hide similar to the short pants that Bobby wore. The bottoms were encircled by a golden belt and she wore a matching gold headband, necklace and armbands. Her fur-lined boots came up to just under her knees. Eric had always known that Diana was an athletic girl, but he hadn't realized just how athletic she was. Her new outfit made it easy to see just how well-toned the muscles of her legs, arms and belly were. _Wow_, Eric thought to himself, _that is some outfit_. He caught Presto's eye and winked slyly. The younger boy blushed furiously and turned away, having apparently developed a sudden and very compelling interest in some of the rocks at his feet. Eric smiled to himself as Diana looked up from her own self-examination. She turned to Eric, hands out to both sides and a perplexed expression on her face. "Where are we?" she asked.

For the rest of his life, Eric Pampier never forgot the ninety seconds that followed that simple question.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

The First Battle

"Where are we?" Bobby heard Diana ask. He thought that was a pretty good question, but before he could take a moment to consider the answer, he heard an animal-like squeal and the sound of something approaching quickly across the rocky terrain. He turned toward the noise and saw a white foal with a reddish mane charging towards him. He put out his arms to steady himself against the impact, but the baby horse not much larger than a beagle surprised him by leaping into his arms, trembling. With shock, Bobby realized the the foal had a single, straight white horn coming out of the center of its forehead. This was no baby horse, but an honest-to-goodness unicorn and for some reason, it was terrified.

"Look out!" Hank shouted. Bobby looked up and saw Hank pointing in the direction from which the foal unicorn had come. Bobby nearly dropped the unicorn as he realized what Hank had seen. It was impossible. It was simply impossible. About two hundred yards away from where they stood, an actual living, breathing, winged dinosaur was landing on the rocky terrain. The ground shook with the impact of the tremendous lizard and Bobby realized that he had been mistaken. This creature was no dinosaur, but a dragon, straight out of the fairly tales Sheila had read to him when he was younger. The beast was six or seven stories tall with bright crimson scales and dull leathery red wings. It walked on two massive hind legs and had two other smaller limbs that could probably function as either legs or arms depending on how it was walking. Nothing, however, was as terrifying as its five heads. It had one large red head at the end of a thick, serpentine neck. This head was surrounded by four smaller heads also on snake-like necks. To the right of the main head were a white head below a green one. On the creature's left side a black head sat beneath a blue one. Each of the five heads sported a long, fang-filled muzzle and they were all bellowing a terrible, hideous growl that reminded Bobby of the time his class had taken a field trip to a factory that made jet engines and they had been allowed to watch as a technician fired up one of the impressive machines from just yards away. This sound was like that, but much, much louder. Bobby, still carrying the baby unicorn, turned and fled from the beast and he noticed the others doing the same. He realized with dismay that they were all heading toward the base of a cliff that offered no escape. Within seconds they would be trapped between the dragon and the sheer rock face. Breathing became more difficult as he ran and a stitch was forming in his side. The unicorn was becoming heavier and Bobby feared he would either drop the poor creature or trip and fall, sending both of them tumbling to the ground in the path of the monster that was chasing them.

"Fear not," cried a voice to Bobby's left and Bobby did trip now as he looked to see who was speaking. Hank, who had been running along side him, grabbed one of his leather shoulder straps to keep him from falling. They both stared in surprise at the little man who had addressed them. He was short, shorter even than Bobby and was quite old. The top of his head was bald, but on the sides of his head flowed locks of brilliant white hair. His eyes were a deep blue and he wore a long red and gold robe that reached to his feet. Another roar from the dragon reminded Bobby of the peril they were all in and he realized that by stopping in surprise at the appearance of this little man, he and Hank had most likely doomed themselves.

The old man's right eyebrow was cocked and he was grinning as he pointed a finger at Hank."Ranger!" the little man said in an authoritative voice. A beam of yellow light flashed from the end of that finger and exploded as it hit Hank's left hand. When the light died away, he was holding a stringless bow. Hank reached out his right hand to where a string should have been and Bobby gasped as a string and an arrow, both of pure light, appeared on the bow. Without pausing, Hank drew back the string of light and fired the bow into the chest of the advancing dragon, which was now no more than a dozen yards away. The beast bellowed in pain as the arrow hit home and stopped its advance. It clearly had not expected any of its prey to actually fight back.

"Barbarian!" the little man said then as he pointed at Bobby, who winced as he was also hit by a beam of yellow light. When the light faded, he was still cradling the baby unicorn in his arms, but he was also holding a heavy wooden club that was glowing with the same yellow light that had made up the arrow and string of Hank's bow. While Bobby was still staring at his new weapon, Hank gave him a hard shove towards the others at the base of the cliff. Bobby got the message. While they ran, he heard the old man's voice call out four more times. "Magician!" he cried, "Thief, Cavalier and Acrobat!" Each word was punctuated by a beam of light that struck one of the companions. Bobby was concentrating too hard on running to notice which word was reserved for which friend or what each beam of light did. He was also wondering exactly what they were going to do when they got to the base of the cliff. He could hear the monster approaching from behind, so Hank's arrow hadn't killed it and his own club seemed far too small to do any real damage to the beast.

As they reached the cliff base, Bobby saw it struck by a barrage of fire, lightning, ice, a cloud of gas and a stream of some kind of blackish-green liquid that melted the rock face like acid. Apparently, each of the dragon's heads had its own means of attack. Just as Bobby became sure that there was no escape left to the companions, Presto reached into a green, cone-shaped hat that Bobby was sure he hadn't possessed a moment before and drew out three long ropes with grappling hooks at the end of each. He tossed them effortlessly into the air and they continued up to the top of the cliff as if of their own accord, where they stuck firmly into the rock face.

Eric, Presto and Diana led the way up the side of the cliff. Hank grabbed the unicorn from Bobby and he, Bobby and Sheila wasted no time in following their friends up the ropes. While Hank's arrow hadn't proved deadly, it had apparently stunned and disoriented the beast, for all of its shots missed as it fired wildly at the companions. A bolt of lightning struck the rock face a few feet to Bobby's left, but he didn't allow himself to be distracted and continued to climb for all he was worth.

Eric and Presto reached the top of the cliff ahead of the others. Diana and Sheila were just a few feet below them and Hank and Bobby were bringing up the rear. Bobby heard Eric shout out in surprise and a flash of blue light exploded at the top of the cliff. The explosion had not come from one of the dragon's attacks. _Oh no_, Bobby thought, _what now_?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

At the Top of the Cliff

Presto pulled himself to the top of the cliff and was greeted by the sight of what must have been the fortieth impossible thing he had seen in the last three minutes. At the top of the cliff was the largest horse Presto had ever seen. It was midnight black with slanted, red eyes. Smoke puffed from its nostrils and its four hooves were each engulfed in, but not consumed by, orange flames that crackled, hissed and popped menacingly. If the horse was something out of a child's nightmare, then its rider was a thing from the deepest recesses of a lunatic's raging madness. He was huge for a man, easily clearing eight feet tall. Over his chest and arms he wore gleaming red armor. The gray robes that he wore underneath the armor covered his legs and nearly matched the shade his pasty, dust-colored skin. His mouth was a fang-filled horror and the pupils of his eyes were an angry red. He wore a helmet that matched his red breastplate and from its left side protruded one single, long, curved horn. But none of this was as startling as the black, leathery, bat-like wings, whose nine-foot wingspan arched out and over the demonic figure and his steed.

Eric shouted out a warning as the figure raised its right hand with palm out towards him. A flash of blue-white light erupted from that hand and a beam of energy exploded out from it. Eric raised the shield he had acquired just moments before from the strange little man near the base of the cliff and held it above Presto and himself. The energy stuck the shield with a furious explosion. Eric grunted from the force of the attack, but both shield and arm held. Presto heard the others continuing the climb from beneath them and he was about to shout out a warning, when five ferocious roars and the tremendous, pulsating gusts of wind let him know that the dragon had finally reached them.

Eric was still holding up his shield as he and Presto both turned their heads to look behind them. The other friends were gathered just below the upper surface of the cliff, crowding together as close as they could to the protection of the shield. No more than twenty feet away, the dragon was hovering under the power of the awesome beats of its gigantic wings, but to Presto's surprise, the dragon's attention was no longer focused on the six friends, but rather at something above them. _The winged rider_, he thought to himself. _The dragon's more concerned with it than with us. _

Another blue-white beam like the one that had hit Eric's shield flew out over the friends' heads and plunged into the belly of the dragon, knocking it back several yards. It bellowed in rage and, to Presto's amazement, he saw the rider and horse fly over the cliff edge and away from the dragon. The beast howled again and followed the dark rider until both were mere specks on the horizon.

The six companions finally pulled themselves the rest of the way to the top of the cliff, where they stood shaking and breathing heavily. "Who was that?" Diana asked breathlessly to nobody in particular.

They all gasped as the little old man from below stepped out from behind a large boulder a few feet away. "That was Venger," he answered, "the force of evil." The foal unicorn bounded out of Hank's arms and trotted over to him. The old man smiled and scratched the animal behind the ears and it responded by nuzzling at his neck. "I am Dungeon master," he continued, "your guide in The Realm of Dungeons and Dragons."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

The Choice

"The Realm of what?" Diana asked, still trying to catch her breath. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her muscles were twitching slightly from the unused adrenaline that was still rushing through her system. Despite that, she was determined to remain calm and collected. She knew that nothing would be gained by losing her cool right now.

"I know you all have many questions," the old man said, "but you have a decision to make first and before you do that, we must get away from this cliff. Venger and Tiamat have distracted one another for now, but they won't both stay away for long. We must not be here when either one of them returns."

"I can agree to that last part," Eric said. Diana noticed that he was pale and visibly trembling; these were most likely symptoms of the same adrenaline rush that Diana was feeling. "Look, Pops," he continued shakily, "I don't know who you are or how we got here, but if you could just send us back home, I think we'd all really appreciate it."

"I am afraid that isn't possible right now, Cavalier," the old man responded with regret in his voice. "Now, as I said-"

"No!" Eric shouted, cutting him off. "Listen, we have been nearly smashed in a roller coaster accident, barbecued by a dragon and blasted into bits by some lunatic in a Satanic Liberace costume. I am not staying here another minute!"

Diana quickly walked over and took one of his hands in both of hers. "Eric," she said soothingly, "I think Dungeon Master here wants to help us. He did give us these weapons to fight the dragon, after all. If he says we need to get away from here, then let's listen to him for now. We can talk about getting home later."

Eric turned to Diana, his face still pale. He opened his mouth as if he were going to object, but then seemed to think better of it. He closed his mouth and nodded silently in agreement.

"Well, spoken, Acrobat," Dungeon Master said. "Now, if you are all ready..." He raised his arms above his head and everything flickered briefly for a moment. There was a buzzing sound in Diana's ears and suddenly they were somewhere else. A short burst of vertigo caused her to sway a bit and she noticed the others, save Dungeon Master, doing the same. She regained her balance and looked around.

They were on top of another cliff with their backs to a dark forest. Far below them stretched a rocky plain and in the distance stood another series of cliffs. To Diana's astonishment, she saw three suns low in the sky, the first of which was just starting to set below the line of that distant cliff. In all of the excitement of their arrival here, she hadn't taken the time to examine the sky. "There are three suns here?" she asked.

"Actually, there are four," Dungeon Master replied. "The other one has already fallen below the horizon."

Diana swallowed. If there had been any hope left that they were somehow still in their own world, the vision of multiple setting suns extinguished it.

"Is that where we just were?" Hank asked, pointing to the cliffs on the horizon.

"Your eyes are quite good, Ranger. Yes, that is where we were. And now we are here. We are not totally safe, but we should have fair warning should either Tiamat or Venger decide to come looking for us."

"Dungeon Master," Diana said, still looking across the impossible distance they had just crossed in the blink of an eye, "where are we? I mean, I know you called this The Realm of Dungeons and Dragons, but where is that? We can't possibly be on Earth anymore, can we?"

"No, child," Dungeon Master replied quietly. "Your home world is far from here."

Diana turned to look at him. His eyes were compassionate and also sad. "Just how far away is it?" she asked, unsure she really wanted to know.

"The answer would have no meaning for you," he replied. He looked to the others then as he continued to speak, "I know that this is difficult for all of you. You have been given but the smallest glimpse of the true enormity of all that is. You have traveled through distances and in directions that would be incomprehensible to the brightest minds of your world. All of you have been brought to this world which, as you have already noticed, is quite dissimilar to your own. However, I have good news." He smiled then. "You are not without a friend. My role is to aid and guide you as necessary as you search for a way back to your own world."

"So there is a way back home?" Hank asked.

"There are many ways, Ranger, but none of them will be easy to find and you will face many dangers and trials in the searching. That is why you need to make your first decision now. If you wish to survive here and make it home safely, you must not allow dissension and discord to divide you. Only together can you overcome the evils of this world and in order to function together, you are going to need a leader."

"A leader?" Eric asked. "Who is going to lead us? You?"

"Nay, Cavalier. As I have already said, I am only a guide. You must chose from among yourselves the one who will lead you."

Diana looked at each of her friends. _If you wish to survive_, Dungeon master had said. These five people meant more to her than anyone else in the world outside of her own immediate family and the possibility that she might lose one of them was something she couldn't even bring herself to contemplate. If they needed a leader to get them out of here safely, then there was really only one choice. "I nominate Hank," she said.

Hank looked over at her, clearly startled. "Uh, Diana-" he began, but he wasn't able to get any further.

"I second that," Sheila said.

"Yeah, me too," said Bobby.

Presto and Eric joined in with their agreement as well and Hank looked like an animal caught in a trap. "Look, guys," he said, "it's not that I don't appreciate this, but I'm not sure I'm really the best choice."

"Maybe not," said Dungeon Master, "but you are _their_ choice, Ranger. However, before you decide whether or not to accept this honor, it is most important that you and I discuss some things. Come walk with me." Hank looked uncertain as he joined Dungeon Master's side. "We will be back shortly," the small man said to the others. He turned then and began walking toward the forest. Hank looked back at his friends, shrugged and followed the little man into the trees.

"Do you think we can trust this guy?" Presto asked, sitting on the ground.

"No way," Eric said, joining him awkwardly. He was apparently still unused to moving around in his armor. "I don't trust him at all."

Sheila, Diana, Bobby and the baby unicorn joined the two boys on the ground, forming a small semi-circle that allowed them all to keep an eye on the woods where Hank had gone with the man who called himself Dungeon Master.

"I don't know," Sheila replied. "He did help us fight that dragon thing and he seems nice."

"Maybe," Eric said, only slightly mollified, "but he sure isn't telling us everything and I want to know why not." He paused then to look at the shield that he had placed on the ground. "Still, I have to admit that this did come in handy."

"Speaking of your shield," Diana said, "what did Dungeon Master give the rest of you? I was so busy trying not to get eaten by that dragon that I didn't see what everyone got."

"I got this hat," Presto said, showing off a green, cone-shaped cloth hat. "I pulled those ropes out of it that we used to climb to the top of the cliff. I'm not sure exactly how I did that though."

"Well, it worked, Presto," Sheila said. "He gave me this," she continued, pulling at the purple hooded cape she was wearing.

"He gave you a cape?" Eric asked. "What kind of weapon is that?"

"It's not a weapon exactly," Sheila said. "Watch." She pulled the hood up over her head and she immediately vanished.

The others jumped up in surprise and looked around. "Where'd she go?" Eric asked, looking around.

"I'm right here, guys," came Sheila's reply from where she had been sitting. "It makes me invisible, that's all." She reappeared then as she pulled the hood back off her head.

The others sat back down, looking at Sheila in admiration. "'That's all'?" Diana said wonderingly. "Sheila, that is the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"Yeah," Bobby said. "It's awesome! All I got was this club."

"Does it do anything?" Presto asked.

"I don't know. It glows when I tap it against stuff." Bobby stood up and tapped the club once on the ground. The club began glowing with an intense yellow light.

"Pretty useful as a flashlight, I guess," Eric said.

"Wait a minute," Diana said. "Bobby, have you used the club on anything yet?"

"No, I haven't had the chance. Why?"

"Go try it on that rock over there," she said, pointing to a boulder a few yards away that was about waist-high on Bobby. "Just be careful. You don't want to hurt your arms when you hit it."

Bobby shrugged and walked over the the stone. He spread his legs wide, raised the still-glowing club above his head and brought it down hard. The effect was spectacular. Not only did the club shatter the boulder into thousands of tiny pebbles which flew out in all directions, but it caused the very ground to quake. The friends except for Bobby were knocked over and were left hugging the ground as they waited for the quake to subside. After a few moments, the dust cleared and the shaking ceased. Bobby was staring at the others with an awed expression on his face. "Are you guys OK?" he asked quietly.

Diana looked at her friends. Each of them was lying face down, clutching at the sparse ground with both hands. Even the baby unicorn was on its belly with all four legs sprawled out in different directions. They all wore similar expressions of stunned amazement, but they looked otherwise unharmed. "I think we're all OK." she said. She looked back at the younger boy. "Wow," she continued, "that's some flashlight, Bobby." She unclenched her fingers from the death grip that they had on the grass and sat back up, helping the unicorn to its feet. The others also regained their former positions as Bobby rejoined their little circle, staring at his club in wonder.

"Uh, Bobby," Eric said. "Do me a favor. Give us a warning before you use that thing again. I'm not sure I can take that kind of surprise very often." Then he looked over his shoulder into the woods. "I wonder if Hank and the old man are OK."

"I get the impression that Dungeon Master can take care of himself," Presto said. "And since Hank's with him, I guess he should be OK, too." He looked at Diana. "We all saw Eric's shield at the top of the cliff," he said. "We know what it does. What did Dungeon Master give you?"

Diana pulled the small green rod off of her belt and held it out in her hand for the others to see. In its current state, it was about eight inches long. As it sat in her palm, it began to glow with a serene, green light.

"I'd say that seemed pretty useless," said Eric, "except that Bobby's stick over there can apparently shatter boulders and cause earthquakes. Let me guess; your stick shoots cannonballs, right?"

"No, it does this." Diana stood up and concentrated on the rod. It suddenly extended to about ten feet in length in her hands. She backed away from the others and turned so that she had plenty of space. She began running and brought the pole down, vaulting herself into the air.

The first time Diana had done this, she was fleeing from the dragon Tiamat. She hadn't really put any thought into what she was doing, she had merely acted on instinct when the pole had appeared in her hand and vaulted away from the danger and she really had no memory of what exactly she had done or how she had done it. This time though, it was a little different. For one thing, she was now very aware of what was going on. For another, she had put a little more power into her vault than she had meant to and it appeared that the javelin itself had the ability to add to her own power. Diana found herself hurtling a good twenty feet above the ground and now she had to concentrate on how to land without breaking her legs. Remarkably, though she had only dabbled in gymnastics a little back home and had never vaulted before, she found that she knew exactly what to do. She executed a flawless rotation and her descent actually slowed to a safe landing speed. She suspected that this was also due to help from the javelin. Unfortunately, she realized with terror that she had vaulted herself several feet beyond the edge of the cliff and there was no way for her to get back to safe ground. She opened her mouth to scream as she was about to fall below the edge of the cliff top when she was suddenly enveloped by a yellow glow. Her descent slowed to a stop and then reversed direction as she floated up over the edge of the cliff and landed safely on her feet in front of Hank and Dungeon Master, whose hand was also glowing with the same yellow light. As the glow from Diana and Dungeon Master's hand faded, the others were running up to join the three near the cliff edge. "I see you have been practicing, young Acrobat," Dungeon Master said. "Perhaps you should continue your studies somewhere a bit safer, hmm?"

Diana couldn't have agreed more.

The seven of them were at the edge of the woods, seated around a small campfire. The last of this world's suns was sitting just above the horizon and the evening sky was aflame with oranges, reds and yellows. "We must finish our discussion quickly," Dungeon Master said, "once the last of the suns sets, the fire will need to be extinguished and you will need to move into the woods in order to keep your position secret from Tiamat and Venger. The Ranger and I have spoken and he has agreed to be your leader if you will have him."

Diana looked at Hank. He was seated cross-legged and was staring into the fire, his face a mystery as the reflection of the low flames danced and flickered in his eyes. She began to realize then what must have already occurred to Hank: he was about to take upon himself an immense burden and responsibility. In an unfamiliar and dangerous world, Hank would be responsible for protecting their very lives. It was an unenviable task.

"You have all suggested that Hank be your leader," Dungeon Master was saying, "but he has yet to make his own suggestion and I believe that he would like to do so now."

Hank looked from the fire to Diana. Their eyes met for a moment and then he looked to the others. "I am honored," he began, "that you all have put so much faith in me. However, I think we should also consider Diana, who would make just as good, if not better, leader than me. She is really smart, honest and hard-working. We've all known her for a long time and I'd have no problem trusting her with my life."

By now the others were all looking at Diana, whose mouth had suddenly gone very dry. "I...I'm touched," she said. "Thank you, Hank," she concluded simply.

"The night comes quickly," Dungeon Master said. "Acrobat, you and I do not have the time right now for the conversation that the Ranger and I had earlier. Should your companions choose you, we will have that conversation before you accept."

"I understand," Diana said.

"Then let us choose." The Dungeon Master's right hand was once again enveloped in the now familiar yellow glow. Once it had faded, twelve pebbles were left on his palm. Six of them were yellow and six of them were blue. "Magician," he said, holding out his left hand and looking up to Presto's hat, "if I may?"

Presto removed his hat and gave it to the little man who handed the pebbles in his hand to Hank, who was sitting to his immediate right. "Each of you take one pebble of each color," he said. "If you wish for Hank to be your leader, place a blue pebble in the hat. If you choose Diana, place a yellow one. Once made, the choice is final for the second pebble will vanish after you place the first in the hat. He stood then and gestured for the others to follow suit. "Please form a line behind the Ranger," he said. They did so. Dungeon Master looked expectantly at Hank as he dropped a pebble into the hat and then moved around the fire and sat down. They all did the same and moments later, Diana was sitting down once more upon the ground. "Let us see whom you have chosen," Dungeon Master said, emptying the contents of the hat upon the ground. Diana was not at all surprised by what she saw: five blue pebbles and one yellow.

"Thanks for your vote, Hank," she said with a smile. He looked into her eyes and answered with a small smile of his own.

"It is done," Dungeon Master said. "And now I believe the Ranger has some things to say to you."

Hank took a deep breath and got to his feet. The sky was nearly completely dark and the fire had mostly burned to embers which cast a reddish-orange glow upon his face. "Again," he said, "thanks for your confidence in me." Then a slightly pained expression appeared on his face and he shifted uncomfortably. "This next part isn't easy for me," he continued, "but Dungeon Master says it's important and I guess he's probably right." He paused, looking into the embers as if putting his thoughts in order. When he spoke again, he did so without looking at the others, keeping his eyes on the dying fire instead. "I'll always want input and advice from each of you and I'll ask for it when making decisions." He paused for a moment and swallowed. "However, there will be times when we discuss things, when everyone has spoken his or her mind and we still have a disagreement over what we should do. Some of us will think one way and the rest of us another. There will be other times when decisions have to be made quickly without any discussion at all. In those kinds of circumstances, I'll be the one who needs to make a choice and I'll have to be able to do that knowing that we'll act as one, without there being any dissension in the group. I need to know that once I've made a decision, you'll follow me, even when you disagree with my decision or don't understand it." He looked away from the dying fire and gazed at his friends, taking in a deep breath as he did so. "I need to you to take an oath of loyalty to me," he said.

Diana had guessed where Hank was going and she immediately understood how difficult this request was for him. By making it, he was fundamentally changing the relationship he had with each of them. He would no longer just be their friend. This was asking for something else entirely: for a new and profound kind of commitment to him that recognized his new authority and power over them. They would still be friends, but not in the same way as before and this request was costing Hank far more than it would cost the others. The rest would still have equals in the group; he would be alone. She looked at the others. They were all looking at Hank with mixed expressions. Diana reacted with little surprise when Bobby was the first to stand. He walked around the fire, knelt before Hank and bowed his head.

"I swear to follow you to the ends of this world and any other we come to until we return home," he said in his young voice.

Sheila stood, walked over and knelt next to her brother. "I swear to follow you to the ends of this world and any other we come to until we return home," she said, repeating Bobby's pledge word for word.

Diana stood next and noticed that Eric and Presto had also stood at the same time. As one group, the three walked over to Hank, knelt before their friend and likewise repeated the pledge, "I swear to follow you to the ends of this world and any other we come to until we return home."

"Stand up," Hank said, his voice sounding choked. The five friends stood and Diana saw that his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Thank you," he continued, "I...I don't know what to say."

"Well," Eric said, slapping Hank on the back, "that's going to make it harder to follow your orders."

Hank laughed at that and wiped at his eyes with the palms of his hands. "Thanks again, guys. I mean it and I'll do everything I can to get us all home safely." He took a deep breath before continuing, "I do have a couple more things to take care of before we move on. Diana," he turned and looked the tall girl in the eye. "I would like you to be my second-in-command. I may rely on you for advice quite a bit and if I'm not around or if I'm incapacitated or...or something like that, then you are in charge. It will be your duty to get everyone safely home. Do you agree?"

Diana nodded gravely. "Yes," she said.

"Thank you," Hank said. "And will the rest of you follow Diana's lead the same as you would follow mine?"

The others all nodded. "Good," Hank said. "After Diana, the chain of command will continue down by age. That means Eric, then Sheila, Presto and finally Bobby. Does anyone have any objection to that?"

Nobody did. Hank turned to Dungeon Master. "I think that's about it," he said. "Was there anything you needed to add?"

"No, Ranger," the little man replied. "You have done very well. And now it is time to leave this place."

He waved one hand over the hot embers. The red glow and the heat they had been producing vanished, plunging the group into almost total darkness on this moonless night. A warm red glow then appeared a few feet off the ground in front of Diana and she realized that Dungeon Master had somehow transported the light and heat from the embers into his right hand, which he now held aloft. "In the woods there is a cave where we can rest for the night," he continued. "The entrance is well hidden and we should be undisturbed. Please follow me." The little man turned and entered the dark woods. With Hank in the lead, the companions followed.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The First Day

Sheila opened her eyes to the soft pink glow of the first of the morning suns. The mouth of the cave to which Dungeon Master had led them the previous night faced east and silhouetted against the backdrop of that light, Sheila could see Hank's figure as he sat with his back leaning against one side of the opening, his legs stretched across it and his magic bow on his lap.

She lifted her head off of the makeshift pillow she had made with her new invisibility cloak and sat up. She had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had entered the cave last night and hadn't woken up once through the night. The physical and emotional stress from the previous day had simply worn her out to the point of exhaustion. The others lay around her sleeping on the cave floor, none of them more than a few feet away. Their soft, regular breathing was somehow comforting. It was the first peaceful vision Sheila had seen since coming to this strange world.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grimaced at the sour taste of morning breath in her mouth and the state of her hygiene in general. After spending a day under the sun at an amusement park and an afternoon battling and running from a giant dragon, she was in desperate need of a shower. Her skin was layered in a dried film of sunscreen and sweat, her hair felt oily and stringy and she suspected that she didn't exactly smell like a spring meadow. On top of all of that, there was a much more pressing concern; she hadn't gone to the bathroom since she had gone at the amusement park and she wasn't going to be able to wait much longer.

As quietly as she could, she stood up, grabbed her cloak and navigated through the maze of her friends' arms and legs to the mouth of the cave. "Good morning," she whispered to Hank as she approached him.

"Good morning, Sheila," Hank whispered back, looking out at the sunrise. He was sipping some kind of steaming, dark liquid from a wooden cup. The look on his face as he took each sip told Sheila that he wasn't exactly enjoying it.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing to the flask. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. She was really going to have to figure out what to do about a bathroom quickly.

"Dungeon Master brewed it for us," Hank said, indicating the black pot that was sitting over a low fire a few yards outside the cave. "It's supposed to help our stomachs get used to the food and water here so we don't get sick. It tastes pretty awful, but it's better than getting food poisoning, I guess. You ready for a cup?"

The thought of drinking anything actually caused Sheila physical pain. "No," she answered, "I really need to take care of something else first. Um..." she didn't quite know how to continue and felt the heat rising in her cheeks as she blushed furiously. Sometimes, she really hated her pale complexion and the ease with which she got embarrassed.

Hank's smile was understanding. "You fell asleep before we discussed this last night. There's a good size stream about fifty yards or so over that way," he said, pointing into the trees with the cup. "I want to stay at the cave another day to give everyone a chance to rest up, but I don't know what kinds of creatures live here, so I figured that it's probably best that we don't leave anything that something could consider as us marking its territory. The stream should carry all that kind of stuff away from here." He looked at her thoughtfully for a second. "I was about to tell you to take Diana with you, but your cloak should give you enough protection if you're comfortable heading into the woods alone."

"No, I should be fine," Sheila answered hurriedly. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and nearly sprinted into the trees.

Being invisible was a unique sensation. Whenever she pulled her cloak up she became invisible to others and to herself. It was strange to feel her arms and legs moving, but to not be able to see where she was putting them and it also made it more difficult to avoid tripping over the various limbs, twigs and rocks on the forest floor. It affected her sight as well. Colors were muted and everything had a washed-out look to it when she was invisible. She assumed it had something to do with the fact that light was now passing through her rather than bouncing off of her, but she wasn't sure about that. She might ask Eric about it when she had the chance since he was pretty good at physics.

She arrived at the stream that Hank had described. It was about ten or fifteen feet wide and looked to be no more than a foot deep. It was flowing briskly over a number of flat rocks and large boulders and the sound of the running water was almost unbearable at that point. Suddenly, Sheila realized that she was totally unprepared for what to do next. She had never relieved herself outside before and she wasn't sure of the best way to go about it. She was going to have to come up with something though before the question as to how she did it became moot. "I guess you're just going to have to figure it out, Sheila," she said to herself as she took off her boots.

Five minutes later, she was feeling much better as she approached the cave with her boots in her hand. The damp grass felt good on her bare feet. She stopped by the bubbling pot, set down her boots and picked up one of the wooden cups that were sitting on the ground near the pot and, using the ladle that was hanging on one of the pot's handles, she dipped out a cupful of the thick, dark brew and took a cautious sip. She grimaced slightly at the taste. It was very bitter, but not undrinkable. Sheila had always been an early riser like her father and growing up, it had been tradition for she and her father to share a morning cup of coffee together while her mother and Bobby slept in. That tradition had become even more important now that her mother was gone. While this concoction was nowhere near as good as the milk-and-cream-enhanced beverage that her father always made for her, it wasn't totally unlike it either. She sighed as she took another sip and walked to the cave, wondering if her father was somewhere far away drinking his cup of coffee alone.

She sat down in the cave mouth next to Hank who was still working on his own drink. "Feel better?" he asked quietly with a slight grin from behind his cup.

She shoved him playfully. "Yes," she whispered, "but you could have warned me about the water. Man, it was cold on my ankles."

He laughed. "I guess it would be, but I didn't need to get in the water to use the stream, you know."

"I hadn't thought of that. That's one of those things where you guys have it easier than we girls, I guess." She took another sip of her drink. "Hank," she asked, "why are we bothering with this drink? Can't Presto just pull food out of his hat?"

"Yes and no. We practiced that some last night after you fell asleep. Most of the time, Presto managed to pull out something edible, but I don't want to rely too much on his hat. He could lose it for one thing. Also, we could get separated from him or it could simply quit working. I think it's better if we all learn how to survive without magic in case it isn't there for us some day."

"That makes sense."

"We only have to drink this stuff for a couple of days. After that, Dungeon Master said that we should be able to eat or drink anything that would be safe for the locals."

Something occurred to her then that she hadn't realized before. "Hank," she said, "where is Dungeon Master?"

"He left early this morning, while it was still dark."

"He left us?" she asked, surprised. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"He and I had a long talk early this morning. He kept the first watch and then woke me up a few hours ago so that I could take over his watch and so that he could give me some advice before leaving. There's a town several miles east of here where we can pick up food and supplies. He suggested that we go there. After that, I'm not really sure. I got the impression that we can more or less choose where to go and what to do, though Dungeon Master is here to give us nudges in the right direction from time to time."

Sheila though about that. "But Hank," she said after a moment, "what are _we_ here for?"

"Dungeon Master told me that we are here to search for a way home. Beyond that, I don't really know, but what he said concerns me."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, why would we be brought here to search for something we already had? That doesn't make sense unless it's the search itself that's important and that's the problem."

"What do you mean?"

"Dungeon Master didn't say we are here to _find_ a way home. He said we are here to _search_ for a way home and if it's the search that is important..."

Sheila caught on. "Then whether or not we actually find a way home may be irrelevant to whatever or whoever brought us here?"

"Exactly."

Sheila let that sink in as the two of them sat silently, watching the filtered light of the first morning sun as it rose behind the dark, shadowy trees of the forest. After a few moments of silence, a rustling from back in the cave told her that another of her friends had woken up.

She looked over her shoulder to see Eric gingerly stepping over Diana's supine form. His foot caught on something and his arms spun wildly as he fought to regain his balance. Sheila put her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle which caught Hank's attention and he turned to look as well as Eric miraculously caught himself without making a sound. He was bent at the waist, leaning forward against the wall with both arms splayed wide. His legs were spread over the still sleeping Diana as if he were attempting the splits. He stayed that way, breathing heavily for a few moments before turning to his two friends at the mouth of the cave with a pleading look in his eyes. Sheila and Hank looked at each other and both nearly burst out laughing. Eric's face grew more agitated as his feet slid slightly in opposite directions, leaving his the lames of his faulds mere inches above Diana's belly. In another second or two, he was going to come crashing down on top of her.

Sheila and Hank took pity on their friend and walked over to help him. Hank stepped over Diana and bent down, supporting Eric under his left arm while Sheila did the same to his right. Eric let go of the wall and put his arms around his friends' shoulders as they tried to help lift him back to his feet.

Unfortunately, Sheila had been unprepared for the marked increase in Eric's weight due to his armor which he had neglected to take off before going to sleep. They had only partially lifted Eric back to his feet when her legs buckled and his weight shifted in her direction. Hank was forced to duck out from under Eric's arm to avoid toppling to the ground himself and Sheila suddenly found herself bearing all of Eric's weight as he somehow managed to clear Diana's sleeping form while tumbling into his redheaded friend. Sheila backpedaled for several feet as the two of them careened awkwardly toward the cave mouth. She finally landed hard on her rump and Eric's momentum pushed her full onto her back as he fell on top of her in a tangle of limbs, capes and armor. Her head bounced off the soft earth of the ground and she shut her eyes, wincing against the sudden pain. When she opened them again, Eric's nose was nearly brushing slightly against her own. "Good morning, Sheila," he greeted her in a quiet, but cheerful voice. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine," she said with a somewhat forced smile as the pain in her head faded to a dull ache, "and you?"

"Oh, fine, fine. Beautiful morning, don't you think?"

"Yes, definitely," she replied. "Umm...Eric, do you suppose you could, you know, get up?"

"Yes, yes, absolutely. That's a really good idea. There's just one problem."

"What's that?"

"Well, we're kind of tangled up."

"You know, I noticed that."

"I thought you might have, but there's something you might not have noticed."

"Really, what's that?"

"I can't see you."

Sheila blinked. Eric's face was pretty much taking up her whole range of vision and was blocking most of the light, but now that she thought about it, he did have that same washed-out look that everything had when she was invisible. The hood must have fallen over her head as they tumbled to the ground. Still, she didn't understand Eric's reluctance to get up. "I don't see the problem," she said.

"Neither do I."

"Ha ha. Eric, please get off me. You're very heavy with all that armor."

"Sheila, I'm a little hurt. Don't you know that I'm a gentleman?"

"What? Um..." Sheila thought about that for a second, confused. "What?" she replied again.

Eric finally smiled, apparently deciding to end this little game. "Sheila, I can't see where to put my hands, or, rather, where not to put them."

"Oh," Sheila said, a little embarrassed. She tried to reach her hood, but both of her arms were pinned under Eric's weight. "Lift your head," she said. Eric did so and she lifted her own head as much as she could without bumping into Eric's and shook it. After a moment, color returned to normal as she felt her hood slide onto the back of her neck..

"Would you two like some privacy?" Hank asked from somewhere to Sheila's left. She heard Bobby and Presto snickering while Diana laughed openly. Even the unicorn was making short, mocking bleats.

"Thanks a lot guys," Sheila said with exasperation as Eric clambered off of her. He offered her his hand and she got to her feet. "You could have helped us, you know."

"This was more fun," Presto said, still snickering. "That was some wake up call, Eric. I about had a heart attack when I heard all that armor clanging around."

"I do what I can," Eric said. Then he turned to Sheila. "You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, straightening out her dress and hair. "Just a little embarrassed."

"Don't worry about that," he said. He turned to pat Hank on the cheek. "You and our fearless leader will get the hang of rescuing people eventually. Now, if you'll all excuse me, there was a very important reason that I was getting up in the first place." He headed off towards the trees then at a fairly brisk pace.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The Prisoner

The circular room at the top of the tower was windowless and dark, a dim black candle upon a rough wooden table provided the only illumination. The room's sole occupant lay on the cold floor, her back against the curved stone wall. She was young, no more than twenty and she was dressed in filthy rags that did little to protect her from the room's chill. Her bare feet, stained black with grime were shackled together with thick, short iron chain at the ankles. Her hands wore similar restraints that were attached to her leg irons by another short chain that permitted her to sit up or lay in a fetal position, but was not long enough to let her stretch out or stand. The fetters were firmly secured to the stone floor with a large iron spike that gave her little hope of escape.

Her hair was a matted nest of knots and tangles that hung in twisted clumps, partially covering her face and it was so filthy that its natural color was impossible to discern. She was very thin; the bones of her limbs were clearly defined and her skin was dry and cracking in places, silently proclaiming the severe dehydration she was suffering. Mercifully, she slept, but her sleep was not entirely peaceful. She made frequent whimpering noises and her body often twitched and shook, rattling her chains upon the floor.

A booming noise from far below startled her from her troubled sleep. She sat up and scrambled as far away from the door as her chains permitted, cowering against the wall with her knees drawn up just under her chin. She could hear footfalls ascending the curved wooden staircase that led to her cell. _He_ was returning. To everyone in the realm, his name was synonymous with death, pain and worse: far worse for a young woman such as herself. She fervently wished that she had a sharp object of some kind that could at least be used to end her own life if not the life of her captor before he had the chance to do whatever it was that he had planned for her. Unfortunately, she did not and she was forced to wait in the darkness, trembling.

The thick oaken door opened and a tall figure stood obscured in the shadows. Though everyone in the Realm recognized her captor, she had only seen him in person once: when he had abducted her from her cave. His bat-like wings, blood-red robes, nightmarish face and booming voice had left little question as to his identity. He had said nothing to her when he had appeared without warning at the mouth of her cave in the early evening. He had pointed at her and a flash of light had flown from his finger and encircled her from her shoulders to her ankles, binding her as tightly as any real rope could. She had blacked out then. Her next memory was of being carried up a curved staircase, still bound by the rope of light. In the near darkness, she had been unable to make out more than the outline of the single horn protruding from her captor's head. He had been conversing with another being following them on the staircase and though she could not see it, she could feel waves of cold malevolence emanating from it. She had passed out again and that was the last memory that she had. Now her captor had returned to collect whatever payment he felt she owed him. She prayed silently that he would do it quickly.

"Your name is Sunna," the figure said. The girl started at the name that she hadn't heard in years and the voice that uttered it was unfamiliar. It was not the full, resonant voice she had expected. She peered at the figure across the gloom but was unable to see any detail. She guessed that he was awaiting a response, so she gave a jerky nod, too afraid to speak.

Apparently satisfied with her response, the cold voice spoke again. "Two days ago, you witnessed a battle between six young humans and a dragon at the cliff near your cave."

She nodded again. She had indeed witnessed the spectacular battle, though she now suspected that she would be much happier and safer if she had not.

"Good," said the voice and the figure stepped from the shadows and into the meager light provided by the candle on the table. Sunna's mouth fell open at what she saw. The man was tall and wore a simple white linen shirt with matching pants. His feet were bare and he held nothing in his hands. His chest was broad and his shoulders and arms were well-muscled. His blond hair had thin streaks of gray and was pulled back from his face and tied with a leather thong. He had blue eyes that were as clear as any Sunna had ever seen and they sat above a strong, regal nose. His mouth was well-defined and he was smiling slightly, revealing perfect, white teeth. That smile was friendly and yet, Sunna could sense something dangerous in it as well. It reminded her of the tame wolf her father had once kept as a pet. It too had a friendly smile, but in the back of her mind she had always been aware of the powerful jaws and razor sharp teeth that formed it.

"Come, join me," the man said as he sat at the table, "we have much to discuss." He waved a hand at Sunna and the metal bands around her ankles and wrists fell open. She stared openly at the open bonds and then at the handsome figure seated at the table, unable to wrap her mind around what she was seeing. "W-who...?" was all she managed to breathe out. She was afraid that she was in danger of swooning again.

"Ah, but you already know me, my child, as does everyone else in this Realm," the man said with that same dangerously friendly smile.

"I am Venger."


	16. Chapter 16

Epilogue

That second night, they all sat around the low campfire outside the cave finishing their dinner of roasted hot dogs. While Hank was eager for them to learn how to hunt, he hadn't pressed the issue this evening and Presto had provided the meal from his hat. It had only taken him two attempts to get it right. Sheila smiled at the barking she heard in the distance. They had all been surprised by the pack of panting dachshunds that had flown from the hat and fled towards the stream after Presto's first attempt at providing dinner. The poor guy had been terribly embarrassed, but one thing about Presto was that he never quit. Sheila admired that about him. On the second try, he had pulled out a large plate of hot dogs and another plate of buns, ketchup and mustard. The hot dogs had been delicious roasted over the fire and Sheila was nearly stuffed as she swallowed the last bite of her second dog. Nearly, but not completely.

"Hey, Presto," she said, "you have any marshmallows in that hat?"

"That's a good idea," Eric said from his spot next to Sheila. "What do you say, magic man?"

"Let's see," Presto said uncertainly as he took his hat off his head. He held it in his left hand while waving his right over the opening. He paused for a moment and then began his spell. "Roses are red, tulips are yellow, please give my friends and me some white marshmallows." His smile was wide when seven, large fluffy marshmallows popped out of the hat one at a time. They all applauded his feat before reaching for their dessert. Bobby, who was seated across the fire from Sheila, grabbed two, probably assuming that the extra marshmallow was meant for the baby unicorn lying at his side with her head in his lap. That reminded Sheila of something.

"Bobby," she asked as the young boy put two of the sugary confections on his stick. "Aren't you going to give the unicorn a name?"

"Me?" Bobby asked. "You're going to let me name her?"

"Sure," Hank chimed in. "She seems much more attached to you than she is to the rest of us and she did choose to jump into your arms first. It's only fair that you should name her."

Bobby smiled hugely as he looked at the single-horned face of his diminutive companion. "How about...Uni," he said.

"Uni?" Eric said. "Not exactly original, is it?"

"Eric," Diana chided.

"Well, it's just that I though something like 'Capricorn' might be better. I mean, haven't the rest of you noticed that she looks and sounds more like a baby goat than she does a baby horse?"

"Hey," Bobby interjected, "don't talk that way about Uni."

"Eric was just teasing you, Bobby," Sheila said calmly. "Weren't you, Eric?"

"Sure, Kiddo," Eric said. "Uni's a great name." he glanced at Sheila then. "I still say she looks like a goat," he muttered under his breath. She elbowed him in the ribs in response.

"So, how early do you want to get up tomorrow, Hank?" Diana asked as the bottom of her marshmallow turned a golden brown. She rotated it to give the other side a chance to toast. Once the marshmallow was the same golden hue all over, she slid it off the stick and popped it into her mouth, smiling blissfully as she chewed.

"Early," Hank replied. "Two or three hours before dawn, if we can manage it." The others looked at him in some surprise. "Dungeon Master said that the town of Misty Grove is about ten miles from here as the crow flies. It's going to be longer over the rough terrain and we don't have horses. We don't have Nike shoes either," he said pointedly. They all looked at the footwear they had been given upon their arrival.

"Oh, no," Eric said, looking at his own armored feet in despair.

"Exactly," Hank replied. "And it isn't just Eric. None of our boots are exactly what we're used to wearing back home and it's going to take some time to break them in. We had all better expect a lot of blisters tomorrow. That's going to be bad enough without having four suns beating down on us the entire time. The sooner we get up, the easier the trip is going to be. I think we can spare two or three hours rest, but I want to head out after that."

Eric was still looking glumly at his feet when Sheila nudged him. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I'll carry the big, powerful knight if his feet start to hurt."

Eric looked at her with mock concern. "No, Sheila," he replied, "you'd better not. After this morning, we'd be just as likely to tumble down a hill into a dragon's waiting mouth or something. I'll be OK." He smiled at her and winked. "Thanks, though."

She smiled back and looked up at the sky. Thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled in unfamiliar constellations across blue-black sky. The stars were never this clear back home. The only time she remembered them ever looking close to this was when she and Bobby spent a summer at her aunt and uncle's farm in Ohio, but even then they didn't compare to beauty of the panorama above her now. As she gazed, a shooting star flashed across the sky in a shimmer of pure, white light. She tore her gaze from the heavens and looked at each of her companions. She didn't understand this adventure that they were on, but there were no other people in her life with whom she'd want to share it more. She was eager to return home, but until then, she was content to be with such wonderful people that she loved so dearly. This was going to be some adventure.

"Sheila," Eric's voice entered into her reverie.

"Yes, Eric?" she replied contentedly.

"Your marshmallow's on fire."


End file.
